Monday, April 22, 2013

The Bar - Day 15: an Infested poem

What was I thinking?
All alone in the bar
With the creepy old men
Covered in tattoos and scars.

The place was infested
With all shapes and types
I imagined that some
Had once worn prison stripes.

In the corner a man winked
As he drank his last beer
I was starting to feel sick
I should get out of here.

So what was I doing,
Midst the winos and strays?

I was feeling just as lost
And as lonely as they.

Caren E. Salas

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