Saturday, March 7, 2015

Douglas Polk- A Poem

The Drink

city dark,
snow covered,
and cold,
stop at a tavern,
warmth sought,
both inside and out,
near the bar,
an old man sits,
an odor consumes the air,
warm and sickly,
from the bowels of the earth,
his smile impersonates a nightmare,
his aura,
dragon like,
eyes unblinking,
a drink demanded,
faking ignorance,
walk away,
open the door,
and run,
into the blessed snow and cold,
the car to be picked up tomorrow,
if it's still there.

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