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the sad tavern

we talked for hours
after the football game
starting where we left off
thirty years ago

we sat in the very same
booth, where in the day
i wrote short stories
while putting down pints

sometimes we’d sit
at the bar and chain-smoke
sipping on coffee
in between classes

you haven’t changed a bit
she said, laughing;
a reminder how she loved
to tell white lies

once in the corner
on a cold rainy night
i wept like a baby
ruining my story

after hearing the news
you searched me out
held me in your arms
until the bar closed

you know, she said,
you’ll meet her again
and her beauty
will take you away

melancholy struck me
as she covered my wrist
with her hands,
closing her eyes

august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved