at the bar on Friday Harbor.
Water, like a
cabin nearby.
I say, "Sitting." But—there isn’t room.
We stand
avoid eye-contact, as musicians of different angles
pile
in.
Kids, all of us
realizing this is how it's done in Ireland.
I've been there
a lot, recently
pretzel-legged
rubbing stones together
conjuring
hands
to shape the me I think I deserve
Possibilities no longer
meanwhile, at the bar
we dance above reverb
bright futures dangling toward incandescent lights
the musicians cheer.
Can we please not talk about this, please?
Tyler Dempsey is the author of a book of poetry called, "Newspaper Drumsticks." His work appears in Heavy Feather Review, trampset, Bending Genres, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, Emerge Journal, and the like. He is a fiction reader at X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine. Find him on Twitter @tylercdempsey.