In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Unsung Heroes.”
Crawl in, these passerby
each materializing from the inky blackness
as a lone humanoid crustacean
scuttling across the tile floor.
The rain seldom saturates
but when it does
the wall inhales the wetness
Lined with taps of liquid amber love
And lit up like holiday lights
One pull from each would fill twenty-five glasses
and pal you around new friends tonight.
I sit at the sticky table, wooden and aged like bricks of cheddar
Also available in the afternoons by the threes.
Singular cellphones select sought responsibilities
but lie dormant on the tables
or snake into the hands of dealers.
I remain one with the walls
citing no responsibility of mine until nine.
Whether written notes on netted napkins
or singalongs with the jukebox crows
Whether people-watching in the rabid corner
or twirling a girl along the cluttered floor
It’s a time and a half in this town.
They sizzle in front of the cabbies tonight,
The new and old neon signs
Or so they say, from outside the windowless dive.
If each patron paid their timeless tab
there could be twelve of these places in the gulf alone
Each one pale and lifeless
like the fish they fry on Fridays.