By: Dreadlox33~ 


I dropped anchor

On a bar stool at Corona’s.

There’s nothing like a salt air

Island bar that makes you want to

Re-examine your 401-K

And early retirement

More closely.


It seemed only the locals

Knew about the place;

…probably better that way.


Sometimes Jon Bon Jovi or Kenny G

Would stop in for a beer

Or margarita…

But we’d never interupt their privacy.

It was a protocol

Not to be violated;

Kind of a “crushed-ice” honor code

If you will.


Today there were two local lesbians

Sitting at the end of the bar a little

Pot-valiant and feeling no pain

For 1:30 in the afternoon.

Xena, the one I knew, rode a Harley

And would arm wrestle for drinks.

She didn’t have any money

So she was pretty good at it.


“When are you coming over

To the dark side,”

She would ask me, laughing?

“I don’t have the right equipment, Xena,”

I’d volley back at her.


A sign over the bar read,

“Our Beer is as Cold as

Your Ex-Wife’s Heart.”


Turk was the owner.

A disgruntled establishment dropout

And a three-time marital loser;

That and trying to escape the pain

Of losing a daughter to a drunk driver;

…an evident truth now that he

Only drank tonic with a lime.


When the place would clear out

I’d try to talk reason with him;

But he was so boiled in turmoil

Over his ex’s adulterous betrayals

That by now he looked at all

Women as lecherous deviants.

He seemed to be taking out his pain

On an entire gender.


I would scratch my head

Trying to make sure

I understood Turks lessons sometimes.

Xena might have had better luck

Changing Turks mind

Than I was going to.


A redhead with “road warrior” curves

And a slight overbite

Sat down next to me and smiled.

I felt compelled to take up the slack

Of Turks misguided convictions.

…and I learned long ago

That if you were looking for perfection

You’d never get lucky.


“Buy you a drink,” I asked?


~ …..ian

~ 11-15-13