The Bartender: Poetry

Is it saying
too much to state
that I find it all

the way it seems
that everyone is a
cog in a machine?

Is it glaring honesty
to deride congratulating
the meticulous

as if being detail-orientated
is less dysfunctional
than it seems?

I've churned the potion
of an idiosyncratic mix,
tossed in a lime and
then a cherry
with a splash of

I've this notion that
society just can't fix;
living on a dime,
it is so difficult
to just enjoy the day

But they tell me
these news broadcasts
are the most truthful reality
and this kool-aid
is the cure
for your denial

Yet on the streets
are all these outcasts,
subjected to societal brutality,
covered with band-aids
that just lure
them to the compost pile

I serve the elixir of
a crackpot brew of tea,
dashed in some ginger
and some peppermint
to soothe the stomach heaves

You know,
this facade won't
be the death of me,
I'll sit here and
wipe these glasses
'till it all just leaves

Because I think we're
just one "15 Seconds" from
destruction every second
that we waste

And some had one drink
too many, so I think
it's time to just go home

'Cause living on the
edge of a razor blade isn't
a lifestyle you can taste

Yet they tell you throw
yourself on it the moment
you're full grown

But I'm just the Bartender, man!
Don't lay that jive on me:
I fix the drinks
because bullshit stinks
and it won't be the death of me.

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