friday afternoon at
froth’s tavern
american flags
in every corner of the joint
tv on full blast
to the dr. oz show
bar full of dead people
on a dead afternoon
where nothing is getting done
maybe this place
was full of life once
but now it’s like a morgue in here
short drafts sitting like statues
as we kill the hours
the hours we claim
we want so badly
while dying at jobs
and here they are spread out
these little gifts of time
as amber pitchers go untouched
as lovers play on their phones
heads down and alienated
as dr. oz shares a recipe
that will keep us living forever
while the jukebox sits dead
like some relic from a civilization
who once had the secret
on how to really live.
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