local hot spot

it's a small dive
outside of town. a gravel
lot,
a neon sign with half
the letters out.
open.
liver and onions Wednesday night.
live music,
a local band
of senior citizens
holding on to the past
with pony tails and mustaches,
one with a gold earring.
a wife or girlfriend, or
both sit nearby
drinking beer, staring into
their phones.
the band's thin voices are
a vague out of tune scratch.
high pitched
and whiney.
with guitars in hand they strum,
someone on drums.
grey or nearly bald, paunches
under plaid shirts.
one has a beer in hand,
they go at it in the soft
glow of pale light.
the bathroom door opens
and closes nearby.
there's an echo, a squeal,
a thump.
a few patrons look
up from their beers and fries,
offer a clap or two
when a song ends or did it
end.
it's a long night as people
disperse, leaving
money on the table. no one
saying goodbye. it's enough
to make you cry.
we get out of there.
the night comes on so fast.