The Best Bar in Town
for William Taylor Jr.
It used to be the best bar in town.
Strong drinks, cheap,
a gentle roughness like a faded tattoo.
The pool league met every Thursday
and Ponyboy and his crew held the tables
dollar on the out. Deb was there for lunch
talking the Viking’s ear off
about the latest conspiracy theory;
Sam would stop in for a pint, watch a few innings,
bitch about his job at Addison Gilbert;
Holly held court like the Queen of Sheba;
sometimes the Gloucester poets
would venture across The Cut, drink PBR
gifted like the sacred laurel staff
by the nine muses
things changed
when they built the big hotel
on Commercial St.
The menu at the best bar in town
started featuring flirty bar snacks and natural wines.
There were new faces.
The men talked about ARRs and ROIs
and limitless space.
The women ate up abundance.
Bill’s salt box sold for over a million dollars.
Somewhere in the background
the ocean beat on unceremoniously—
what is to be done
with progress.
Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. Recent publications include Revolution John, Chiron Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, Burning House Press, Apocalypse Confidential, and others. His latest collection of poems, Bullet Pudding, is forthcoming from Roadside Press.
