Poetry · Writing

Missing Flights – Young Amy

You can find me, at the bar

half down a shot and half callin’ for another

girls name half out of my mouth an evening lived in infamy

young Amy rode a one seater plane

first class sip of orange juice.


at the bar

half into another

leavin’ a tale at the bar like a weary traveler

on the way to a plane

to catch another flight

to another bar

to tell the same story

on a different line wondering why the story never changes

how the tellings never evolved from ear to ear.

In a home that I recognize from dreams of a young child

making a drink in my own bar

remembering the stories I lived in another

it’s a little different, lost and confused

with a droopy eye, almost asking for it-

and I’ll feel something close to uneasy

but after another drink

it’s a different story.

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