etched in the dust

The pub’s been closed for a couple of years now
dust resting on the bar that still smells of VB and 4XGold
vermin footprints the only sign anything
comes around to disturb the ghosts that linger
unheard and unseen in the dust

There are pictures on the wall
in memory of those who never made the 100 club
back when it was cool to try and get that wasted
before you’d lived long enough to see your early twenties

Crooked hearts etched into table tops stare up at the cracking ceiling
a forgotten memento to old love affairs, flings
and drunken one night stands
no longer viewed to tell the world, “we were here”

In the silence of the room
my ears are still melodically drunk
on the tunes that carved their way
into our psyches, and sit there
for us to replay when the radio
opens that door to the past

And I don’t need to see her
to remember the contours of her face
or the way her hand felt on my neck
as she held my hair back every time
I relinquished dignity to throw up my nights indiscretions
into the gutter

I don’t need to hear the song
to remember the lyrics or the way
her body curled warmly into mine
stealing a kiss when she was sure no one was watching
and the dance floor wasn’t yet littered
with enough beer cans to maim
those with a drunken misstep

The pub’s been closed for a couple of years now
dust resting on the bar that still smells of VB and 4XGold
vermin footprints the only sign anything
comes around to disturb the ghosts that linger
unheard and unseen in the dust
her ghost among them
the night her ex-boyfriend soaked the floor with blood

The pub’s been closed for a couple of years now…

© Indie Adams 2013