Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Get over it or get out

The old men in the pub look at me
As I climb onto one of the stools.
This is one of those bars where
Strangers are suspect
And if your grandfather
Didn’t drink here
Then you’re a stranger
This isn’t the kind of bar
Where you go to down your sorrows
These eyes have seen it all before
And give no sympathy
Even to their own
Right or wrong
Love sick or not,
You come here to drink
Not to wallow,
Self pity gets scrapped
Off your shoes at the door
Or kicked out with dirty looks
If you drag it in,
They don’t want to hear
Any crap about
How bad you feel
Or how wronged
You think you are,
Each man tells you
To get over it,
Get on with your life
Each man says
Any woman has the right
To tell you to get lost
Even for no better reason
Than being sick of seeing you
Take it outside,
If you can’t take it
The stares say,
We don’t need to hear
About it,
Get over it, or get out.

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