Sawdust and Peanut Shells
The songs on the juke box are sad.
Sad like the faces of the people
who came here years ago
to drown their tears in bourbon
and seek the consolation of the bartender.
Somewhere along the dark and blurry road
they gave up living.
What’s left are the shells of human beings
that died a long time ago
and the fleeting memories
of what it was to laugh, to love.
They can’t even live vicariously anymore.
Postcards from people who got out
are tucked behind the edges of the mirror,
nothing but another half-hour episode
playing silently on the television above the bar.
There is an unspoken rule here
that certain songs won’t be played on that juke box
because they open wounds altogether too painful to mention.
Posted by Amanda at December 12, 2003 09:39 PM
