We recognize the bartender from reality TV
before heading to the East Side, where
underground bars and grungy walls give
what “they” like to call “character.”

At bar number three we have found
what we wanted – hot men, and plenty.
But they are not really looking at us -

lost in conversation with each other.

The bathroom is unisex and lit by blacklight
and we squeeze two into a space for one -

look at the toilet – it is covered in red -

please say that’s paint
please say that’s paint
please say that’s paint

At bar number four there are no hot men
but we convince the bartender for free drinks
and a dance party after hours …

We stay out later than the subways
and we don’t know how to get back
to the Upper West Side.

It wasn’t until I grew up that we became friends,
After I’d completed my share of moving,
Tried my share of illegal substances,
Loved my share of people.
We became friends out of convenience,
I was old enough to be in a bar,
But not old enough to drink.

So, every night I had off work,
We’d all go out.
You, me, Dad, and Beaker -
Your only friend it seemed.
You all would knock the drinks back,
While I laughed and watched,
Waiting to load three drunken men into my Chevy

On my twenty-first birthday,
We became best friends,
One friendship left over
From my ill-fated attempt at love
With your best friend, Beaker.
The night was long, the drinks were short.
I drunkenly kicked your ass in guitar hero.

Now, we go out every week,
You, Me, and Beaker.
We drink and we dance.
Beaker and I still make out.
Your friends at the bar look at me with interest.
The bartender looks at me with a smile,
“Don’t worry, it’s not a girl,
Jay’s just her brother!”

(This was going to be an ode at first, but I can’t wrap my head around meter enough)

http://poetryassignment.com/2008/12/assignment-clock/

(My first limerick!)