Drinking At The Bar During The Apocalypse

Drinking At The Bar During The Apocalypse
24 - 25 January 2009

Night is setting in, with the sun drifting off to sleep,
and the bombs are on their way, soon to reach the bar door,
and to take this floating evening, with us, onward.

But, not yet...

Funny, a tip of irony perchance,
as all the regulars, we sit and mingle as usual,
lifting our beer and our head (ev'ry once and 'while),
whenever someone puts a good tune onward.
Most of the east coast (and I suppose west coast),
are gone by now, but our little honky-tonk is spared (yet).
Laughing a little,
at least we won't have to worry about any DUI's tonight.

What I remember:

Sitting in grandpa Clyde's lap on the riding lawnmower,
as he cuts the green-golden grass below,
sipping on his lukewarm and delicious coffee,
from the thermos he brings home from work;
admiring his carpentry as I lift the wood work,
my five year old hands trying to hold on,
though his cold crossed hands can't hold me back,
and granny pulls me away from him one last time,
he staying still in that casket,
trying to hold her own tears back from me,
now, trying to remember the scent of his cherry-blend pipe tobacco,
trying to hold onto those few memories,
and knowing soon I'll be rising up to meet him again.

The last time I made love to Stefanie,
knowing that I never really had her,
(yeah, even when literally having her),
thinking 'bout all those nights after,
holding the phone in my hands thinking of texting her,
though knowing she's in the arm's of another,
still missing the little whorish gal to this day,
eh, at least it'll be the last time,
really understanding what George meant when he said,
"He stopped loving her today."

Now:

M. has turned off all the televisions,
in the midst of lifting her last pack of Misty 100's,
she'll ever have her hands on,
while serving we final patrons to the great pub,
turning them off, 'cause though our world ends,
we want to accept it as we've always accepted our own fate,
coming down here to the bar and enjoying each other's reverie,
embracing her wit and wisdom, and comfort, like a second mom.

"Gent's and Gal's, all tonight is on the house!"
she yells out, between puffs of the Misty cigarette,
and we all yell back in some laughter, some kindness,
and just general appreciation even with the circumstances.

Someone puts on "Silver Wings" by Merle on the juke,
and it's like you could hear a pin dropping in the bar,
all of us knowing we're 'bout to take that final flight,
knowing we'll be seeing that blast all too soon,
and then we'll be together once again -- in some form or another.

What I wish:

I wish I could have loved more in my life,
really done more to help out folks,
given more of myself, and let my own arrogant pride fade away,
though I know you can wish in one hand and shit in the other,
and it's no mystery which one piles up faster.

I wish I could have spent more time with family,
laughed heartier at my dad's dirty jokes,
helped granny in the kitchen --
especially when she cooked her bologna brown gravy,
chicken livers, and fried pimento cheese sandwiches,
wishing I could have known my brother,
wishing he hadn't passed when a week old --
wondering how different a person I'd be if Joshua Daniel was still with me.
Wondering if he and my grandpa and I can have a beer when the flash comes.

Now:

Really funny, in that dark sort-of-way,
I always thought the end of the world would bring everyone together,
we'd hold hands like in that 80's Coca-Cola commercial,
and place all the pain behind us.
But, what I find here tonight is that we are still within ourselves,
many folks, including me from time to time tonight, are shedding a tear or twenty,
laughing like never before at strange times,
and downing more alcohol than Hank Williams Sr. did on his last night here in Knoxville.
But, it's okay, we know each other so well, from many years and battles,
that it's okay to be our true selves here around one another, one last time, tonight.

Then the lights die.
Then the juke dies.
The power has faded away,
(in so many more ways than one)
and that sound outside like a rolling freight train,
it comes closer and closer...

I guess we aren't the blessed ones who will go fast with the flash,
but I see at least twenty others shrug their shoulders and tip their beer back,
(as so I do)
one more inhale and one more downing, before it all goes.
At least go out in some style...

And a last thought that hits me,
how good it feels,
knowing that at least we won't have a hang-over in the morning...

-- j.