The Regular

The buzzing green light makes the hair

on my arms look like swamp grass.

I haven’t even pulled out my stool

and the sweating pint is already

sitting on the scarred wood.

He doesn't ask. He just nods.

The coaster is a sticky pulp

that clings to the bottom of the glass

when I lift it.

I want to be the kind of person

who is a mystery

somewhere else.