Red Room Latitudes

when the patronless red room consipres an armor
and mya's sullen and aborted
attempts breed really pissed off customers
true service is dead

awkward instant
and the first customers bails
legs furiously puming
because they can't wait to escape
pushing open summers new door
a sweet release from the prison
that has engulfed their soul

and even though a shadow
has crossed their brow
or pretended to serve
they leave no tip

her service is so terrible
awful
slow
bad
dire
tough
ugly
stinking
unpleasant

In mute nostril agony
because I can't stand the smell of smoke
or the odor of the death that rises up from the dungeon
where Joe lets sleeping ghosts lie

and the ghosts of bartenders past hang in the rafters
the all knowing camera sees all and captures all

all except the sound of the butterfly
and the drone of the overhead muzak
and the pitter patter of little feat
that echo the sound of emptiness

the sense of solitude descends
the red room should be aflutter
but i am an army of one
as i struggle against the tide
of the feeling that drives everyone
to be somewhere else but here