When You Can’t Go Home

I hear the rain
Falling on the roof,
On the trees, and
Hitting the ground with force,
Like an angry drunk
Slamming his empty bottle of
Beer on the table,
Demanding more.

“Just put it on my tab,”
He says.
The bartender replies,
“I think it’s time for you to go home.”

The truth is, he would,
If there was anything to go back to.

This poem © Kevin Walker. Published Apr. 2012.

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