Local Pub

by Bruno Talerico

Alone,

he enters the privileged atmosphere:

cigarette haze thick with laughter

punctuated by fat silences.

Communal intoxication, boisterous banter,

in darker corners, hushed intimacies.

Clink of cheap glassware, clang of silverware,

fragrance of overused frying oil and stale beer.

Wood smoldering in the corner hearth

provides minimal warmth.

Would-be rockstar

plucks notes on an untuned instrument,

Would-be groupie

swoons and giggles, punch-drunk lover.

Minor arguments flare, then fizzle,

fueled then doused by liquid spirits.

Here for one pint that grows to four,

he staggers home in the misty night,

a rerun of last Saturday

and the next.