The jazz trio is too good for this dive
we have all found ourselves in tonight.
Outside, sand and tumbleweed blow,
the weight of the world itinerant.
Inside, a drunk woman cries
in a booth in the corner and everyone
ignores her. I could cry, too,
but there's cheap margaritas,
the theme from St. Elsewhere and "Take Five,"
and a guy at the bar who looks
like he's never been to prison
and might want to dance.
Outside, cars speed back to California,
money won or lost on the minds
of the drivers. Inside, it's time
for another drink, it's time to crush
my body against no-prison's for "Linus and Lucy,"
it's time to celebrate the walls that keep
the wind storm and the people heading
elsewhere out of my vision.
It's just time.