Dukes of Habit

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Irish night
with a few black beers for luck
stood elbow to elbow
in the midst of strange drunkards
three sheets to the wind
placing little wagers before the clock struck
and the tender turns us away

like the last three nights we’ve been


telepathic minds…us both
in a beautiful crowd distorted by the spirits and lager
then, the music would get better
though, the night was about to escape
how do we steal it back?

a slurring whisper asks


with another round and a once around
he stared at his empty glass, the webbing froth,

straight into someone eyes
before a foot was ever made
I knew the sun would not win tonight
as a lady now holds its rise



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