sour liquor
and stale cigarettes
along with a few
garish neon lights
assaulted the senses
as i stepped from
the sunshine day
into a convalescent
home for the lost
souls desperate
to numb it all

growing up
there was an ashtray
in every room
fancy crystal
looking things
most memorable
from when my mother
struck my father
over the head
splitting his scalp
as she raged

there wasn’t a
solitary soul sitting
at the sticky bar
without a half dozen
stories mostly the same
lost in the shadows
as they nodded along
to the song playing
on the juke box

i cannot remember
most of their names
but the haggard faces
sunken eyes with
red noses sitting
on broken bar stools
from sun up until
passing out wherever
the last drink spilled
remind me how life can
squeeze the hope from
a person leaving little
more than a husk robotically
moving to the next fix