Our souls are waiting for us,
but they will not linger
for our emergencies.
They don’t understand time.
No more than a casual glance,
no more than a witnessing nod,
no more than an inverse howdy-doody
as they bang the screen door
at the back of the last bar
on the highway for 100 miles.
All that is left when we arrive
~ lonesome at the bar ~
a Scotch with no rocks in it
and a juke box playing...