Whose World II

Listen to the clatter of glasses,
crystal clear,
drowning shattered dreams
which refuse to be housed.

They all sit smiling,
shouting "cheers",
while the drummer's
drum beats,
but not my heart.

I sit and listen;
mother appears
yelling,
and pops lowers his gavel.
But they'll be no judge of me,
after-all,
they led me to this dwelling
where I'm no fool.

My evenings are spent waiting,
but it never comes.
One more for the road,
and I'll be gone.

The bartender bellows, "last call",
and I watch as drunken heads rise,
closed eyes open,
and aged-wrinkled faces
beguiled of time
pass by.

Pops waits with mother.
The house door is open,
and I realize, "Yes, last call".

Robert Allison
1979 

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