Kristian ZenzBrewtown Eatery Bar and Grill
The mold makes the mood musty
But goddamn, her groove is gutsy!
They’re laughing at my losing battle,
Licking up limericks (it’s booze).
The slot machine is in full throttle
Sipping slurs about the same old news.
“Get up now, sit on down, look around,
panic attack, shattered bones, neon moans in the ground—“
This is the sound
Of demented in hell
This is the sound
Of those I wish well
Wait, back it right up
Off the wall, spilling beer
At the bar like a waterfall
Down the drain, the remains of liquid sugarcane
Let us rain, let it rain, not one to ever blame
I see her, it’s my face, turns red like leaves in fall
“Stockings to britches, he’s gotta be ten feet tall!”
Down goes the Bud Light,
Another bottle into the night
Later on, you’ll say you’re sorry
But you won’t remember what you did
You’re over my age by forty
And the radio plays country hits (fine).
This is sound of
The bar at 51st and Howard
Away from her I hide, what a coward!
“Where do you think that you’re going?”
In the outside
I pray to repent
Inside my head
She lives for free
pays no rent.
This is the—
“Get up now, sit on down, look around—“
This is the—
“Shattered bones, neon moans in the ground—“
This is the sound
Of Cheryl at an American bar
No escape now, the beer has gone sour:
“I’m fifty-two years old! Let’s dance, young man.”
After three hours of continence,
She gave up and took a seat.
My mind in deep resistance,
She knew she had been beat.
America, the land of glory—
She has a complicated twist.
By the time that I am forty
I, too, will be playing country hits.
Photography: Kristian Zenz