a poem a day for a year #353

by Amy Turn Sharp


I'll find you on the twisty back road, in the dodgy little dive on the right by the tall birch tree line. It stays open late and you can play darts in the back. There are wooden booths full of carved names and burn marks big enough to stick your finger inside. I'll get you a bourbon and I'll swing on the stool while you make your way to me. Once I saw a man hit another man in this bar and blood flew across the room like Hollywood and we all held our drinks like anchors. Another time some girl screamed at her lover until she fell to the the floor like a discarded doll. I've danced in there to sad songs a few times and it always ended up being a bad idea, but tonight I won't cry. I won't even take my eyes off you.