going to the pub

italodisco through

cheap earbuds pushes, exit

the shapes i hold

myself in, enter night

of comedy, satire

americana, collegiate cheap

drinks, every face

is a friendly face, a crushing

hug with just-barely-know-

-you acquaintances, friends

of friends of friends of friends

and yet delight

spearheads bright

grins, genuine joy

sparked against blinking

neon beer signs and

flickering christmas

lights in their eyes

upon gleaning yet another

friendly face.

the satire plays on,

the friends of friends of friends

of friends are my friends

too, tonight,

while we shiver

in early march cold

soon to be shed

in a sweat smog the cling

of a sticky bar,

and we’re

going to the pub.