the brown paper bag poetry club
By JupiterMoon
- 757 reads
the brown paper bag poetry club
this small, musty room
accepted our mould
a long time gone.
but rules live here;
still-born memories
once begun.
lacking license,
there can be no drink
in here.
not without
the regulation,
brown paper prophylactic.
shuffling beneath
damp autumn eyebrows,
we pocket rummage
as words spill over the postered walls;
advertising clubs
for babies we’ll never have now.
in here we are kings
(sorry ladies,
there are queens here too,
but us men are so much more insecure)
clinging to our illicit kingdom;
cracked lips moistened for the drawl.
we shape words.
we shrug,
and shirk
and lose.
each empty bottle
in a brown paper bag,
another cold
dawn bruise.
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Comments
I found this such a vividly
I found this such a vividly sad scene of addiction and laced with loss. You got all those stereotypes in to that room and showcased the human vulnerabilities poetically, too.
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