Man walks into bar.

the police blame the bar

wallpaper, small window, the low mist hangs

alcohol fumes climb the walls

where dead men run a tab

You think this is a joke

said the ambulatory anus

A haze of horizon.

Man balks. Call him ‘The Tsar’

glasses shatter in his eye

which had been full of eastern promises

but now shies away from the light

when Tsar walks into the police

and says, ‘You lookin’ for a fight?’

– bar none – the habit-wearing one replies

don’t interrupt we’re doing the sudoku

too dunkin our churros d’orge in leaves to help ya

Soz bout that. The man looks on and laughs. He’s

all talk, no action. All bark, no bite.

Heads lift from their schooners to survey the stranger

but the eyes are glassed

in a kind of, Liam Gallagher way

an upstart, only three chords roll here

another round rolls over and plays dead,

	the barkeep threatens cut-off

can easy size up sordid sag of time

until The Tsar’s dog noseys in, lookin’ for a morsel

a man walks into a bar

holding up a STOP sign, idle onlookers laugh

Idiots.

In a vodka oasis, screwing with the stasis.

Still knife.

Yet life still.

yet still, Idiots! they scream, and are barred, barred, finches that fight and fly

             in equal measure

one potato, two potato, three potato, four

man walks into fish and chip shop –

it’s a touch too much to blame the fish

“Easy now”, he laughs squirting vinegar and piss

it was a fin thing until that fish monger

pushed in the long thin filleting blade and skillfully,

oh so skillfully, eased the flesh away from the bone

what have we here? a voice behind him said

filleting his thoughts

teasing heart from the bony ridge

griefstricken again

careful – the floor is slick with salty tears

that show you can take a man out of a bar but not the bar

out of the man that built the bar