70’s Bar

Poetry by Ted Boughter-Dornfeld Copyright © 2009

Motown mojo hops down
Through speakers,
While neon lights
Flash smiles.
A cool, green liquid sits,
Untouched in a lean glass.

Mellow lights give
The place a quiet class.
Amid the pulse of an
After-midnight entourage,
The clamor of
Celebratory laughs.

What’s going on?

Two birds fly by
On the way down South,
Where dancing tunes
Can be heard,
If you listen just right.

Down there, it’s a maze.
I’d rather stay up here,
And park myself
In a trouble-free simplicity,
Letting my mind wander…
Off the beat.

A shift.

Gazing out the window,
And past a yawn,
The fuel of the night
Is far from gone,
Because I can dig
Marvin anywhere.

My attention predictably
Short-lived, I become engrossed
By a bead of dark whiskey,
Which lies upon a neighboring seat
(An elegantly tall bar stool,
Probably made from a cherry tree).
And it’s there I am reminded,
It’s always been the night I seek.


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