The barkeep wipes the counter, sighs slow,
Another night shift, another round to pour.
Same faces, same stories, same afterglow,
Drinking away the emptiness, hour by hour.
A fly buzzes, fat and indifferent,
Circling the chipped glass, a shared despair.
Neon bleeds a lonely redolent,
Painting shadows on weary faces there.
Laughter cracks, brittle and forced, a joke’s sting,
The bartender slams a shot, eyes cold and flat.
Piano groans a bluesy, discordant thing,
A symphony of regrets where dreams went splat.
Each gulp a surrender, a bitter defeat,
Drowning the ghosts that never truly die.
Barstool lament, a bittersweet retreat,
Where the living dead drink until they cry.