2010
03.31
03.31
I avoid the conversations,
not interested in hearing
stories scrapped from the barroom floors;
nothing of interest ever happened
while sipping a pint
and waiting for the night to call.
Once, a girl told me she loved me
while my mate went to take a piss;
this, they say, is the tragedy of romance:
two people at a bar,
alone for a moment
and looking to fill themselves
with love or alcohol,
whatever
comes cheapest.