A Lone Shot of Whiskey

I.

Nothing’s lonelier

than a lone shot of whiskey

in the corner of a crowded bar.

II.

It sits there

discarded,

barely touched,

while its owner

stares at the sorry reflection

in the mirror behind the cashier.

III.

The eyes tell the story

of this man’s

unattained hopes,

smashed to pieces.

And it tells the story

of this man’s

dreams, never

allowed to be dreamt.

IV.

He’ll grab it once,

then put it down.

Grab again,

but thoughts inside

forces it down.

 Finally, he breaks

and hides behind his folded arms

on the beer soaked, polished wood

surface.

V.

The shot pushed aside.

The whiskey jumping with one last

plead to the would-be drinker.

It sloshes and swirls

then slowly comes to a stop.

It’s lost this bout.

VI.

And now sits alone,

in a corner of crowded pub,

next to the solitary man,

neglected,

forgotten.