ON THE HOUSE
I had a dream last
night
that was real to me—
I never dream of monsters or
scary cliffs—
as real as any.
The light in the busy place
was tavern perfect and
the people were tavern people but
they were all dressed just a bit better.
I was there living or staying in
one of the booths
though I wasn’t drinking—
I don’t anymore in my waking life either—
and the owner of my old favorite bar
was in there but he was
sitting in a straight-back chair in
the window to the right of the door
like a mannequin.
He didn’t have a pint in his hand.
He was looking for someone who
he was expecting it seemed.
He was going away soon
maybe a trip back to his Ireland.
I felt a bit neglected by him.
We usually talked.
A very tall woman I don’t know in real life
smiled at me real close like in a fisheye lens
as she walked by me sideways
through the people towards the door.
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