The Regular's Seat

Before my coat was off the rack,

he'd pushed the glass my way.

No words were needed, nothing back,

just the usual end to my day.

The bar top, scarred and sticky brown,

where my elbow makes its mark.

Another night in this tired town,

just waiting for the dark.

The same dim lights, the same old tunes,

a comfortable, dull hum.

These worn-out, wasted afternoons,

this place I always come.

I guess it's easier than a fight,

to just sit here and wait.

Another predictable, lonely night,

beyond the closing gate.