Jack’s Bar

the blare of a beer sign

like the flash of a headlight

in a review mirror

grows

within a damp

beard of wood

reaching

from a dusk silhouette

as the sun shrugs

and newspapers relax

my friend and I drift

through a tired door, the handle,

worn, like the bartender’s face

and the hands that linger

around glasses

listless eyes turn

beneath the dim of smoke

that annoys the brown lights

as Hank Williams music

increases the prattle

pool cues conflict

in a buried room

with billiard balls that clatter

down pockets

like the quarters that push

inside the jute box

the u-shaped bar

concedes a scan

of faces

that soak the day to keep

the memories

behind the dusky curtains

as the froth begins to dry

and mugs drain,

the stories etch into a night song

just before

the splintered door

grimaces

its goodbye