Tavern Tale

by February 28, 2023 0 comments

Goaded by grog,
music and machismo merge
to spring pantomimes
of latent desires.

Several schooners later
someone or the other
croons or curses.
The ambient sound
is a brew of idiolects
bolstering me to ideate.

More gulps
this babel is incoherent –
the mind gets clogged.
I am at peace.

editors note:

“A drunkard’s dream if I ever did see one.” – mh clay

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