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Brewtown 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


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