from “All You Ask for is Longing: Poems 1994-2014” (BOA Editions)
Okay stranger, plug a dollar
in the jukebox,
some forgotten country
twang. Like cigarette smoke
staining my eyes, watch me
rise like a moth
to the ceiling fan.
This dive of don't
speak so often
and old men counting
dimes for a drink.
Is there another joint
as sad as this one?
A tall glass
of whiskey
emptied
like a long swim.
And on the bar top, left like a tip
on a bloody napkin,
someone's tooth—