Self as Last Call
       

Because I'm stranger at night   because stragglers
is a friendly word   because no one's short
perched on a bar stool   because whiskey's best meted out
by a bartender on a much-used surface past midnight
because the possible just appeared offering to buy a round
because aged in wood   because I don't have to drive
home    because we like our wee hours don't we
because pupils expand in dimness   blackholes taking more
and more in   because bitter but wilder   because lost
words emerge and each radiates a story   because tell me yours
because the once-young night is a wizened sage   because
I've no children but wish to be listened to   because late
sires later   napkins can be written on   music covers the
gaps   because there's always ghost ones to toast
more this night than last   because it's fearsome cold
and outside the wind slaps all who exit   the sky's a stern
absolver   because steady now   because now's the soon
dissolving into dawn's daily gray

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Copyright © 2021 Jeanne Marie Beaumont All rights reserved
from The Manhattan Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission