The Bartender

The bartender’s long fingers,

Undress my petty words,

As I play a one-sided game of chess,

With a cluster of empty shot glasses,

He sees right through me,

Like a pane of glass,

He’s met this cul-de-sac,

A thousand times; in every possible guise,

He takes it in his stride,

He plays psychotherapist,

Medicine man,

In a town full of whispers,

He is the oracle,

He knows everything,

I don’t know his name.

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