The Bar with The Bones

The chandelier above me resembles hanging bones
strung together with wires and pins.
It’s like something you would see in a Mexican souvenir shop
or the coroner’s office in a box marked ‘evidence’.
Is it wrong of me to order something strong and admire the deceased?
I should probably order a glass of Cabernet. Wine is always more polite.
It pairs well with the bleeding. Or I guess, the dead.
 
I see the construction worker opposite me
just got off work and straight to the bar to drink.
Him too, eager and keen for anything strong.
He is contemplating the same thing,
are those bones or is that something from Ikea?
A fad, a trend.
He had ordered beer but when it came, he just looked at it
Looked at the bones, and stood up
he offered the cluster of housewives his table.
I overheard, Jenny ordering three martinis
straight up, shaken and one stirred
still deciding about who will pick
the boys up from football tryouts
 
The construction worker came back to grab his beer
stuck his head though the group and said
do you see the bones above you?