To The Bar, John

John, what’s up with you man?

What are you so afraid of?

Is it all these people?

Is it the quickened pace?

The squint-eyed looks?

Could it be the sarcasm oozing out of the sewers?

Pouring down on us like acid rain?

What’s got you so uptight?

What stuck you in that dark shell?

We all have our breaking points

You know it’s true

I, for one, hate spiders

But you?

You seem to have more than your fair share

Were you dropped as a child?

Teased so badly that your mind warped?

No luck with women?

Maybe you should check out the boys?

I saw how frightened you became

They were just checking you out

Didn’t even give you the common curtisy of a catcall

You are a trip

Come on, time’s wasting away

And I only have twenty dollars on me

Happy hour ends in forty-five minutes

We’ll get there just in time to spend it all

But seriously, what’s up with you?

What are you so afraid of?

Come on, let’s move

You can answer me later

Come on, let’s go

To the bar, John

You need the cocktails more than I do

© Dicky J Loweman 2014