• Kira Steffen

Main Street

Night life

can seem nice

in city lights

that illuminate

the glasses clinking

and the cars

whizzing by.


Stepping out

from the warm comfort

of a home

on main street

into the breeze

of the August wind.


Arriving at the bar,

feeling the base

beneath excited feet

before a foot even steps in

to the array of moving mouths

that all at once

say so much;

but nothing.


The hours pass,

the music has numbed

drunk bodies,

voices going in

one unwilling ear

and out the other.


Forget

about your life,

Forget

about your worries,

Forget

about the pain.



But as the steps are slowly,

unorderly taken

into the foot

of the bar bathroom,

the music mumbles,

the voices become inaudible,

the walls become smaller,

and for a second,

all is remembered again.

And for a second,

that bar bathroom

feels like warm sheets

and a 4th floor breeze

from the window

left open in the house


on main street.


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