The Bar

The bar smelled
Of stale cigarettes,
Cheap cologne
And spilled beer.
The air was thick
With the sound of voices
Drowning each other out,
Of pool balls colliding
And the jukebox spitting out
Some old Hank Williams tune.
It was the kind of place
Where old men came to die,
Where their liver was worn out
And their lungs blackened
From a lifetime of smoking.

The same old men,
Telling the same old jokes
To the same old men
Laughing at the same old punchlines.

I sat at the bar,
Nursing a glass of whiskey
And trying to forget
About my problems.
The bills were piling up,
The woman I loved was gone,
And I was barely holding on to my job.
But the booze helped.
It was my salvation,
My escape
From this cruel world.

The bartender,
A gruff old man
With a bushy mustache,
Gave me a nod.
"Another one, eh?" he said,
Pouring me another shot.

I downed it in one gulp
And nodded back.
"Keep 'em coming, Ed," I said.
"I need to forget."

He chuckled
And wiped down the counter
With a dirty rag.
"You and me both, brother."

I stared into my glass,
Watching the amber liquid
Swirl around.
The world outside
was cold and harsh,
Full of broken dreams
And shattered hopes.
But in here,
In this dark,
Dingy bar,
I could forget about it all.

The hours ticked by
And I kept drinking,
Until the darkness outside
Was replaced
By the light of day.
I stumbled out into the street,
My head throbbing
And my pockets empty.
But for a few moments,
I had forgotten
About my troubles.
For a few moments,
I had felt alive.

And that was enough
To keep me going
For another day.