Inside the Cleveland Street Bar

wandering misfit looking for an oasis
overwhelmed by loneliness, tortured by disingenuousness of life
need for human contact fosters frustration
shabbiness of life intolerable
Cleveland Street Bar
irresistible force pulling him inside

door locked up tight
buzzed-in tonight

sawdust floor, broken teeth particles imbedded within
slipped mental moorings reason for nocturnal
jaunt into world of smoke-filled tough
gutted with desire to press flesh against flesh
seeking out bodies crammed on stools
telling lies, hearing same

sense of comfort
your last resort

panicky, icicle jabs prick your dismay
staring at yourself in each haggard face
eyes swiveled, scrutinizing new meat
then back to their misery-laced frivolity
seeking what they seek, alley cat morals
human, clinging barnacles

full-body stench
most speaking French

New Orleans, squandered delights
cross-dressing Cajun queens sprinkled here and there
tonguing words with faux mouths
more in touch with their femininity than the average Joe
smiling with distorted eyes
trying to blend in

do you think queers
can be sincere

Cleveland Street Bar, mishmash of off-course characters
wretched people seeking respite
wishing for just one good day
annoying barmaid with rapier-like wit
skin loose, heavily veined
tired face hisses back like a moccasin

making your play
maybe she may

eyes crawl over her body, breasts, hips
undress her with your best smile, which is a leer
in your stupor she is seraphic innocence
talent for deceiving oneself
cowardly seeking balm for your black soul
within this den of Cleveland Street Bar psychotics and losers

one final try
for thigh to thigh

odd juncture, where words mean not what they say
self-pity, lowest of nadir emotion
like sex, unnecessary to be proficient to benefit from
just want to be happy
not change solar system, just a ersatz smile will do
she blew bitter cold wind straight into his face

back on the street
life is deceit

©Jerry Pat Bolton