I Once Wrote A Poem Poem by Nate Peligeiro

I once wrote a poem
to a waitress
at a bar
I frequented.

Down on my luck one night,
she gifted me
a beautiful and genuine
smile.
I fell in love.

She was already beautiful,
but bestowing that smile,
she became immaculate.

She became my savior,
goddess,
and I prayed
to her as lover.

I had a dream.
She and I
were Christmas shopping.

I told a friend
in confidence.
He laughed and said,
"Holding hands and
skipping stones, eh? "

Sarcasm aside,
he's a brother
and usually has my back.
Though there was one time
of questionable loyalty
with a disgruntled cabbie
but I've learned to forgive…

And so another night,
my brother and I
returned to the bar.
He'd been with
the night of
the apparition.

The bar was packed.
She saw me
and lavished another smile.

Nerves blurred my eyes,
dried my mouth, and shredded my gut.
Opportunity slipped past,
undetected.

All night I watched…
…and drank…

At bar close,
I took a meager dollar
(pretty sure I had fives, tens, and twenties)
and wrote on it,

"The craziness you stir
makes me want
to set fire to a couch."

On the way out
I handed her
the defaced dollar and said,
"See you around."

My brother
wanted to know
what I'd written.

He just about pissed himself…

I second guessed myself.
I stayed low to the ground.
Days passed.
I wrote another poem.
This one said clichéd things like,
"let Cupid's aim be true"
and
"everyone here but you and I
are superfluous."

When the day came for another round,
I needed various rounds and near annihilation
before I could set foot in that place.

The same partner in crime accompanied me.
He said I was crazy.
I didn't argue.

In our usual spot,
I was distraught
not to see her
anywhere around.

I was down
and slid further with drinks.

Then I saw her.
She came down for stock,
Jack Daniels.
They must have run out upstairs.

She never worked upstairs.
She must have been filling in.

I saw my opportunity.
I drained my drink
and told my friend,
"This is it."
He shot me a look of terror,
then said,
"Good luck, dude."

I caught up with her on the stairs.
I said hi.
She said hey.
I asked her if she'd liked my other
"poem"
on the dollar bill.
She laughed
sweetly
and said she did
‘although
it was a bit
strange.'
I agreed and said
I'd written her another,
not so strange.
She smiled
that…smile.
Her angelic smile
and said,
"Don't get me wrong
I'm flattered
but
I
have
a…
boyfriend."

I couldn't breathe.
I sunk lower.
I mumbled
I was sorry
and didn't mean
to waste her time.

She said something else
I'll never know.
I was already
down the stairs.

I didn't see my friend.
I didn't see much of anything.

I bellied up to the bar with bleeding need.
The bartender failed to look my way
or accept my pleas.
It was packed.

I reached over the bar.
I grabbed a shot glass
and a bottle of stock,
Jack Daniels.

I took a few shots.
Rapid succession.
I felt a couple sets
of strong hands
attached to strong arms
rip me out of my seat.

I remember floating
up the stairs
and out into the street.

I remember it being winter.
I remember not having a coat.
I remember calling the bouncers c**ksuckers.
I remember saying
how I was gonna skullf**k'em
or something to that effect.

I remember new sets of hands attached to different arms
grabbing me from behind.
I remember how tight the cuffs were.
I remember howling,
"Weeeee Haaaaa! Let's go to jail! "

I remember the cops laughing and saying
we weren't going to jail.

I remember the drunk tank.
I remember the internment process.
I remember planning my escape
before I passed out.

I remember the next day
and having to watch
Clean and Sober
with Michael Keaton
Batman
Beetlejuice or Betelgeuse
for the second time-
same place,
different circumstances.

I remember waiting hours to blow zeroes.
I remember the cigarette lighter
that was a burner on the wall
with a button you had to press.

I remember the price tag
of my night in the tank.

I remember that girl's smile,
and from time to time
still look at the couch
through a pyro's eyes.