Poem of the Day 02.08.23

that bar in buffalo

was across the parking lot
from my job selling wine

i went there for lunch
as much as i cold afford

a burger and a few beers

and a chance to sit there
and wonder what in the hell
i was doing with my life

sometimes i drank my lunch away
with just a bag of chips

and it felt like heaven not being at that job
and i didn’t care about that job

buffalo was cheap
my rent was cheap

it was probably the last time in my life
where i didn’t have to care about anything

now i have a career
and i’m middle-aged

waiting on a pension
that the job keeps threatening
to try and take away

i agree to things that i don’t want to do
through gritted teeth

and tell myself that it’s fine
while getting drunk on the couch at home

i pass the dimly-lit bars now
and never walk inside

because they hold nothing for me
except aggravation

but that bar in buffalo
had a jukebox that played all of my songs

and the people left me alone

the burger was good
the beer was cold

and i sat there on my lunch
reading bukowski poems
like i was reading the bible

sometimes my boss came in
and glared at me while he had a sandwich and a coke

but i was on my time
and i ignored him

he couldn’t touch me in that bar

i’d order another beer
just to call his bluff

the prick never said a word to me
when we were back in the wine store

he knew buffalo was cheap
he knew the rents were cheap

and there were cheap jobs everywhere
that would hire the clueless
and spiritually confused

so i stocked wine bottles
and breathed stale beer
through my nose

thought about bukowski
suicide and death

and when i punched-out
i’d walk out into that parking lot
and think about going back to the bar

but it would be lit up in neon

and you could hear loud, young after-work voices
and the worst club music booming into the night

the place seemed
foreign and strange

like some slick aliens had taken it over

so i’d just go hone
to get drunk listening to cds

but the next day
the place would be back to normal

silent and dull
waiting for me to come over
at noon

to sit with my beer
and my thoughts

sometimes pretending that i was rich, old man

and there was nothing in this world
that i had left to do.