Today I went to my favorite place, except it wasn’t any more. It was a foreign, fractured, failed state,
a facsimile rendered poor
by my unrelenting expectation
or anticipation to be something more.
A sanctuary, taps and trundled battered fare, trumpeting my ever-presence, thick and austere, and bars tendered tenderly draft deepened in frigid air.
But as captioned athletes glowered and glowed, an uneasy unfamiliarity began to grow, and roots (thought deep under soil) were just lacquered planks under toe.
And so, in my retreat I slinked a silent Irish goodbye, tipping change and cap to that familiar neon sign. This door I once warmed, I shall darken no more, for this once was my favorite place, except it wasn’t anymore.