Paul S. Gifford

BAR FLIES

There they swarm,
day after sad day,
to their filthy watering holes.

Come just noon,
several large drinks,
already poured down their gullets.

Empty heads
generate idle chatter,
as they squander away their lives.

Days blurring;
weeks turning into
years of continued drunkenness.

Each addicted,
ensnared by alcohol,
condemned to drink away their savings

Livers poisoned,
undiagnosed anguish,
as they drink themselves to lonesome demise.

Author’s Note: Today I had lunch with a good friend at a local pub I occasionally attend during the day… It seems whatever day I go in the same arses are in the same seats consuming drink after drink. As I consumed my single pint of Guinness (Over an hour) and enjoyed a mixed grill I could not help but consider their plight.

I arrived at half noon to discover the place was, as always full. Many are obviously retired… And a few appeared to be on a lunch break… Others are harder to figure out.