Corner Bar Laughter

Other people's din
can't spin
the convo we share
in the dim light
of our corner table
at our corner bar.

You promised me
a bite to eat
post whiskey drinks
post shots of a tequila
made in Old Mexico

and yet we continue
to chat and
cackle like Macbeth
witches, bitchin' 'bout
your days work at the 9
to 5: contracts, wordsmithing,
something about a contractual memo
needing memorizing in a few days.

Onomatopoeic chortles, chuckles,
and snickers float and fly above
us like the dragon flies we saw
on our lakeside walk;

          you said it was an insectoid
          aerial show, spoke in smarmy
          old timey voice simply by covering
          your mouth with the hand that left mine.

 Now eyes are on us
to perform
to play
to push our new poetic
yet their rhetoric is a squalor
to the hollers we share

here
          the bar
there
          the bench
where
ever
you want us

          the bed

to laugh.