Waking disappointment on a child's face  

I shouldn't of come here,
not tonight,
too many mouths
that guzzle and gawp.
I want to sweep them with the buffet
into black plastic bags,
smash bottles into faces
slit several throats
with one coria graphed kata.

The rat has only just finished.
It wasn't content with three days
gnawing inside my muscles,
now it wants me to rot,
watch it run down my legs.

There's a resonance behind the bar
each liquid surface trembles.
I feel like a hunter breathing with the stag
as the optics rise and fall.
Then he's gone and I'm left with shredded
beer mats and soft drink labels,
enough confetti for a church wedding
or bedding for family of field mice.

The door opens and lets in
the outside.
I chromatograph the scent
of a thousand stale nights
wrapped in a cigarette smoke carrier,
trace elements I pick out and assemble
until I have that one drink
that isn't going to hurt anyone.