I see I am the last man drinking in the bar.
I vowed I’d never be the last man in a bar.
The lovers, the pick-ups, the panic-stricken couples
heard the night calling, It’s time!, and left the bar.
The ugly go-go dancer with the monstrous schlong
has vanished with his wad of dollars from the bar.
Even David is not coming back from his break
to mix his feeble drinks and talk trash at the bar.
You’re lost. You’re lost to me. Happy or sad somewhere.
You do not think to think I’m waiting in a bar.
This music stabs and stops the heart. The line is flat
although the rhythm is still six beats to the bar.
I would kiss myself if I could. (Stop crying, Jee.)
If I know how, I would by myself close the bar.
circonscrire / to circumscribe
I close the door but the day climbs in through a window.
Other days long thought dead follow it through the window.
Mad with us—or with dad—you turned us out. We walked
and turned but could not see your face at the small window.
You wheeled your bike past the window, and Dad was home.
Love circles, with metallic clicks, the five o’clock window.
The windows, grilled to baffle the body, locked us out,
but a wire hook opened the door through a window.
To cut my losses I chalk round me an endless circle.
To stop the train from crashing in I close the window.
Inside the restaurant, I watched you hurry in,
watched you, first, through the window, then, without the window.
Jee gives his dad the name of Love, his mum, of Loss.
She closed the door on us but, Paul, he cleaned the windows.