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Bar Top Review
"Do you want ice with It?"
Why not,
the deep snow will be more slidable.
I rattle the cubes.
A snowstorm keeps me
twisting and corkscrewed
even when at rest.
'Not too cold for you?"
I am muffled
cocooned in layers of invisibility.
My spine is insulated,
flesh mummified
yet under these red lights,
I almost glow.
"Where are all your friends?"
They shelter in empty shot glasses,
the whisky in them is still warm.
They die alone while talking to my memory.
"What's your problem Mr.?"
It's that mirror back of the bar
it keeps thawing and dripping,
soon my face will emerge,
and its eyes will be
forever unlocked and open.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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