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Ode to a Neighborhood Dive Bar

written by: Matt Dunn

@MJudeDunn

 

The Stained wooden door’s not as polished now
(though, in truth, it never quite was).
I drive by it still, remembering how,
It would open and lead to a buzz.

The regulars: how many of them are still there,
Their usual stools still in place.
You’d wonder, to look at them (That is, if you’d care)
What they would see in this space.

A screen to watch a game, race, or fight.
Which most would cheer as it ends.
A round of cheap beer (two bucks for Bud Light)
Friendly fellows, if not fellow friends …

Who were searching for something when they would share
Their stories, their sports and cold brew.
And is it their fault, or ours, that they found it there,
And not with me, or with you?

 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Not long ago, and not by my own desires, I moved back to the neighborhood I grew up in.  The first night back, I saw the bar I had occasionally stopped into with coworkers in my post college years.  It probably looked the same, but I saw it as worse, mainly because I wasn't happy with where I was returning to, on several levels.

Matt Dunn

Matt Dunn

In real life, I work in Marketing. When not at work, I am a part time musician, and I perform with an improvisational comedy troupe.
The poetry here comes from those few moments left when I can sit in silence and reflect.
Matt Dunn

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