Bar-Brawl Chronicles: 1 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

11: 00 o’clock in the abyss
And the ruckus bottles
Made a mad clatter
And the dames were sitting
Crossed-legged, tongue-tied
And anchored to burly hotshots
And I hated them.

Mr. Waiter approached me,
For I was only sitting alone,
With eyes squinting to the
Ballistic lights,
”What would sir like? ”
And he offered a whole
Party of liquor
It’s like selling small deaths
Inside a cumbersome bar.

And I told him,
”A beer, and a pack of marlboro for
The gentleman”
And he nodded at my
Nonchalant answer
And I bobbed at his
Very concerned look
Perhaps, curious why
I was sitting alone in a bar
When bars are created
For cheap thrills of:
Touching a dame’s thigh
Asking for sex and getting it easily
To carouse in the night’s triumphant
Idiocy
A bar is not a place for me
But I like it here,
Seeing all the stupid people
Stupefy themselves even more
And I chuckle at their poor, shabby selves.

My beer arrived with a pack of Marlboro
And an ebony ashtray
And I lit a cigarette and took deep drags.
I noticed a lady
Who wore tiny pieces of clothing
And my god, her clothing was hideous
Thank the gods she was a pretty dame
For I almost dismissed her as
A mannequin of sorts
A victim inside the bar’s sullying.

And there, I stopped
This little monologue
Inside my head.
And tried to participate.