Last Call Poem by Thomas Koron

Spending our time where people loudly talk,
We wave to friendly faces from afar.
An empty glass leads us to slowly walk
Through the crowd, as we step up to the bar.
Thinking if we want something for last call,
We hear footsteps against the hardwood floor;
And look at the posters upon the wall,
Then start heading over towards the door.
Hugging our dearest friends with no regret;
Suddenly, our memories start to lack.
Our heads fill with names that we soon forget
The next day, and wish to turn our clocks back.
As we walk, allowing our thoughts to clear,
The nighttime breeze brings sobriety near.

© 2012