Thursday, August 27, 1998

The Fear

The Fear
Bottle glass goes mostly green
and sometimes blue (not often)

I watch you
face shrink into the close end of the bottle bottom
and screw the clap cap under the lid
you flew by the bar another brew
and felt the fear catch
and latch around my core
tighten and wonder
feel the cuffs on my wrists
and twist my legs up under
in the cop car back fiber seat glass seats
and wonder as I thrust
my last glass last gasp creditcardmagic under the bar
and stopped to tip the tap from where I sat
on the stool and half faced the bouncer
as I slept then wandered the street
to find my car parked where
then start and fogged the glass
past the other cars' lights
star lighting my windshield glass
and then
and awake
and dry the tears that under
my ducts caked
and o god half sick and half wake
the glass stares back
and I stare too
broke and only half awake
how did I get home and what did I say
and now back here
the bar
and the bottle glass
mostly brown
some green
and always always
-Tim Allen
Antigua, Guatemala, August 1998

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