in this bar
a man trying to sell his leftover windows matters

“they’re shit windows — american standard”
“s’alright, it’s just for the basement fer chrissakes — how big are they?”
“yeah, these are fifty-sixes, standard size”
“shit, i need like fifties — mebbe i can do something
with them though — ”
“gimme a call mebbe we
can work something out — they been sitting there
long enough, they ain’t going anywhere”

he matters as much as the Portuguese roofer trading stories with the Marine

“when i got my flight number — and this was vietnam —
once you had that flight number home they couldn’t do shit to you —
i told that fat fuck to go fuck himself
every time me and guys from the unit get together — we have
reunions somebody tells the story of how i almost got in a fight
with that fat fuck of a major — is like that now for you guys?
do you get a flight number? hope to christ for you
you don’t have to go back”

“yeah, me too”

they matter as much
as the would be blues bar owner
who comes in flashing green
talking about opening finally in three weeks
and goes out with everyone talking about how much
he deserves it, sumbitch always works so hard

it all matters as much as the Memphis-Akron game on all the TVs

and they matter far more than
the dumbass longhair
sucking down Jack Daniels
talking to no one
listening to every word

and everyone here knows that
including the longhair
they know it as well as well as they know
that it’s dark outside
and the rain makes it seem darker
so who wouldn’t rather
be inside

the longhair stares at himself for a long time
in a free square of the back mirror
under the American Flag
the bartender asks if he’ll have another
he nods and pulls the bowl of popcorn closer

says “it’s five o’clock somewhere, and somewhere is here”

and the guy on the next stool says “you got that right”