Love Poem by James Mason

I go to a bar, I sit in a bar, I've been to the bars a lot.

I talk to so many people.

There's a beer glass in my hand that feels like a weapon.

There's a beer glass in my hand that feels like an aspirin.

There's a beer glass in my hand that feels like a weapon.

"Yeah, I'm a bartender, when I'm not drinking," he says.

"That right?" I say.

"Yeah. Let me tell ya. The Irish, they tip good, but the Jews–they don't tip at all."

"Excuse me?"

"The Jews. They don't tip."

"What are you, an idiot?"

"I'm just saying."

There's a beer glass in my hand that feels like an aspirin.

"Yeah, I run a driving school." he says. " Don't get me started about driving school.

I can talk to you all night. Just don’t get me started."

"Don't worry," I say, "I won't"

There's a shot glass in my hand that feels like an aphrodisiac.

There's a shot glass in my hand that feels like embarrassment.

There's a shot glass in my hand that feels like an aphrodisiac.

"Hi, how you doing?" I say.

"Fine. How you doing?" she says.

There's a shot glass in my hand that feels like embarrassment.

"So this guy over there told me to ask you how many push-ups your dad can do in an hour," I say.

"That's not funny," he says. "My dad doesn't have any arms."

There's a beer in my hand that feels like light,

There's a beer in my hand that feels like dark.

There's a beer in my hand that feels like light.

"I think you have so much potential," he says to me, earnestly slurring.

There's a beer in my hand that feels like dark.

"But it will never work," she says, holding her cigarette in the air to meet her upturned lips.

There's a whiskey in my hand that feels like a hat.

There's a whiskey in my hand that feels like a cigarette.

There's a whiskey in my hand that feels like a hat.

"I don't care if I'm going bald. I'm cool with that," he says, brushing his hand over his head.

There's a whiskey in my hand that feels like a cigarette.

"Let me empty that again, hon," she says.

There's a beer in my hand that tastes like a beer.

There's a whiskey in my hand that tastes like a whiskey.

I'm going home.

There's a woman at home who I think I might love.

I climb into bed.

"Good night, sweetie," I say to her.

She says to me, "Good night."