theres nothing a cold beer a raw egg in it and a shot couldnt repair

he sat at the end of a long bar

it was a bar

there was sawdust on the floor

you didnt go there to meet women

filled with working men

hardworking men

wanting three fingers

a cold beer

you didnt go there to talk

hell  the bartender grunted

it was filled with cavemen

if you had something to say you kept it to yourself and took a drink instead

the guy next to you didnt want to hear your problems or troubles

he had his own

you worked it out yourself

you got gregarious too rambunctious 

someone was there to shut your mouth

and if not the Joe seated beside you or at the bar

the barkeep kept a bat or cop nightstick

theyd shut you up 

bounce you

theyd let the neighborhood know you werent welcome there no more

not welcome there you were blacklisted

nobody wanted to hear it

Keep yer shit to yerself

they served hard drinks for hard men

think of it as a confessional

where priests didnt dare enter

go cry on Fathers shoulder if you must

not there

think of it as a library

every stool filled with a book

keeping their stories to themselves

cinched tight between their bindings

1337,  Thursday, 4  5. 17
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