Swells

There was god-damned little left on the table
When I showed up, and Claire was gone.
I stared at the faces of liquor-lit men.
One more good quarter, upstairs, it would
Seem; not so good where I'd been, on my
Ass on a chair in an ocean of chairs, every
One of them bearing a castaway, scribbling
On forms and repeating a story I'd heard.
Drifting for hours, I landed at last at the desk
Of a man with a sweat-mottled shirt, who said,
“Sorry,” and pointed me back toward the sea.
I came to find Claire, to be succored some way,
But someone said she left when she finished
Her shift. I stood by the table, and looked
At the dregs, the slices of meat, the mustard
And cheese, and I picked up a plate and
Assembled a sandwich. The men all around,
Though surprised, didn't speak. They could
See homicide in my eyes.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2011-09-30 at 12:50

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