THE LONG NIGHT’S LAST SONG
It was all out of proportion:
The whiskey glasses,
The numbers of imbibers,
The slothful sort who rambled in
When the closing hour began,
Along with the usual mean-spirited kids who thought they
Could take a chance by drinking faster and more deeply
Than their health or peers thought appropriate.
Few had any sense that night.
But on stage, just before last call,
When Tommy sang, the first bottles tossed were the last,
And the ensuing silence,
Draped in the vapors of a dozen pipes and pub cigarettes,
Overtook the posturing, the laughter, and the liquor,
Sweeping the last stragglers out
On waves of tears they fought back
As they walked the drizzly streets home.
Fully absorbed in his nautilus frame of boorishness
The manager took out a vaguely green-ish tissue and suddenly sneezed,
Mucus running into his Don Ameche mustache and quickly
Sopped up by the old tissue he swiftly dropped
Into the trash bin near his desk.
Uppity as we knew it was, the meeting about the raise began on that foot.
We couldn´t stand on it much so none of us noticed, or,
We pretended not to notice until
Files brought in from his secretary
Were deftly snatched from her hands along with a passing
Gooey hand on her shoulder as he said, “Thanks.”
I winced and feeling weak looked out the window.
The window cleaners across the way were laughing
As my stomach churned between what I´d just witnessed
And what I saw then:
They were teasing each other by rocking the platform and occasionally
Spitting at each other, the thin arcs of the white liquid
Tracing the 60 floors down until they disappeared on a crowd of pedestrians
Shuffling towards the subway.
Upset at the progress, my colleagues tapped my shoulder and
In one sickening motion, I turned quickly sharing my own unwanted liquid spews
In the form of a dizzying wash of brown Coke and barely digested street bought
Mexican chicken quesadillas smothered in creamed cheese and bright-red salsa,
Now a manic mess atop the boss´desk and papers ready for his examination.
You could hear the muzak from the elevator just outside his door as
The secretary stared, standing stone still and pale
Before silently closing the door in her own quite pekid panic.
Gripping her mouth and Making a beeline to the restroom down the hall.
There would be no fluffy labor talks now,
But, just before the Great Upset Howl emerged from his formerly tight-lipped frog face
I began to scream with laughter yelling
A rude and rowdy jump of joy
Mixed with my former stomach contents gracing my best shirt but
Sharing what I knew were the sentiments we all had
Before the yearly begging rite always began with that pig,
Thinking we´d never get much this time around
But the proceedings next year wouldn´t be nearly as fun.