Just off main street.

Wet bar, slippery when wet
Flush felt and pink lace
Far as my blushing face can fathom
The barman slides over crown on the rocks
Says the pretty one is looking at me
The hard wood finish stares up
(I thought I said ice.)
It was empty
My tie was feeling like a fetter
I wasn’t here for the glorybox
Yes, they were
Six tumblers empty
The midnight black man
Tells me to take a walk
A stroll through the red lights
Won’t do me good
I got nothing to please
With no one to salute

Lunch receipt.