Friday Night at the Single’s Bar

wbSingles Bar

By Dave Hood

It’s Friday night, time to unwind, chill out,
relax with few drinks at the Big Moose bar
where everyone frequents, drinks, socializes,
eats chicken wings, listens to live music,
dances the night away,after long week of work,
screwing nuts on to bolts, building cars on the assembly line.

I’m dressed in pair of blue jeans,  casual shirt, leather jacket,
cowboy boots—order a cold pint from Betty the bartender,
start a tab, gulp a beer down like a glass of ice water,
order another, then another, and another.

People stream into the Big Moose, say “hello,”
sit at tables, start to chatter,
pack the place like a warehouse
full of inventory that doesn’t move.

Members of the band amble on stage,
later in the evening
a motley crew, with long hair, tattoos,
wearing blue jeans, black tee-shirts, cowboy boots,
Start playing classic rock’n roll,
Tunes like “I can’t get Know Satisfaction.”

The crowd of middle-aged men and women listen
to rhythmic beat, popular music from when they were young,
dreaming of settling down with a soul mate,getting married,
having children, buying a house, living happily ever after.

Now, they’re single, solo, searching for sex and love.

The ladies of different shapes and sizes,
authentic styles, the odd riff raff, hop out of their seats,
dance to the music as though teenagers again,
hope they’ll be noticed, asked to dance.

Most of the single men stand like statues
drink beer, hard liquor, shots,
watch with interest, leer like their horny,
stare as if they’ve given up.
Some daydream about better days,
a few drink themselves into a daze.

I’m relaxed,as high as a plane in the clouds,
ready to dance like Tony Manero in “Saturday Night Fever.”
Across the bar, I spot a slender, blond-haired lady,
wearing a tight mini-skirt. white blouse, pearl necklace.

She’s dressed as though she reads
the trendy fashion magazines, standing by herself
in the crowded bar, singing along to the song
tapping her right high-heeled shoe to the rhythm of the beat,
“She must be new in town”, I muse to myself.

Feeling lucky,I saunter over, tap her shoulder,
make a polite request for a dance.
She turns, glances, looks me up and down,
laughs as if we’ve shared a joke,
strolls away with her glass of red wine,

Leaving me standing alone,
with an empty beer bottle,
feeling like someone whose been jilted,
Stood up on a first date.

“That’s the single life for a guy over forty”
I muse, strolling back to the bar,
where I order another beer.


About Dave Hood

Lover of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction. Professional photographer and writer. Without the arts, life would be rather mundane, like a walk down the same old path on a dull day.
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