POEM TITLE
Late Summer at the Lobster Pot
POEM
Late Summer at The Lobster Pot
Fresh off the tour boat and crazed
with thirst, men and women crushed
into The Lobster Pot and craved
everything the bar had to offer.
I poured and stirred and sneaked
peeks at the mixology guide
I hid where I could turn the pages
without looking too befuddled.
I drank and still drink whiskey
neat from the bottle, but men
in pastels and sleeveless women
crooned for cocktails none
of my friends would ever touch.
Still I poured with my smile affixed
and they tipped me accordingly.
The summer dusk thickened and cloyed
with sentiments I couldn’t embrace.
At closing I withdrew to the dunes
where blackness on sea poured over
the edge of the world to comfort me.
I unrolled my sleeping bag and stared
up into constellations sparked
with the colors of the drinks I’d poured
without the faintest sigh of guilt.