A Game Of Mug Poem by Jesse Ellsbury

Evening comes in a dark blue fog
staining the streets in shadow,
with god peeking through the keyhole of the moon
and the devils through the peepholes of the stars,
they watch the nightcrawlers play a game of mug
while voyeur streetlights bet on who will win
and keep their mouths shut
because they know that if they don’t…

Neon slogans will bleed beneath the brims
of stumbling bars with their laughing doors,
as women with their painted eyelids
prey on men who have drowned their souls
in cheap Natty Bo and two-dollar whiskey
before taking four-hour drunk drives
to their alleys two miles away.