There’s a bar in West Indy—
it’s humid to touch and
we would sit there, back in 09’
and drink and wobble home after
with big grins on our cheeks
and dirt under our nails.
It sits between two shops,
but we never paid attention to their form of business.
The smell of stale crackers and ripe olives
complimented the taste of bourbon and gin just enough for us
to forget who we were
or what the world needed from our bodies.
We never said it out loud, we didn’t need to,
but we’d go to disappear and then reappear
in our beds the next morning—
confused but content with the previous night’s conversations.
Since then,
Ray and Sammy had kids, I got married, and JT passed away.
I think it’d feel too much like a haunted house
if us three went back now,
but I catch myself sometimes,
when it’s starting to snow
or when life gets a little too heavy,
pondering in a craved state,
wanting to return to that bar off Chestnut and McAllister in West Indy.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem