the girl at the bar

I used to go in every Friday night,
Played pool and drank some beer,
Went home to my wife every time.

Every Friday night she was there,
Wearing her best clothes waiting,
Sipping a dry martini so slowly.

Every Friday night she was ignored,
We all went on as if she was a ghost,
She was moving but she was dead.

Two years and some beers later,
My wife left this two street town,
With her boring hubby in it.

Hadn’t been to the bar in weeks,
Last night I went and there she was,
Wearing her worn out jewelry.

Slowly sipping her dry martini,
Being the empty thing she was,
Used to waiting for nothing.

I walked straight to the ghost,
Touched her left shoulder,
She turned around surprised.

Her lips never moved,
Her eyes did all the talking,
She didn’t look away.

I stood her up and left,
Held her hand out the door,
Put her in my truck in silence.

I took the girl at the bar,
She was waiting for nothing,
So there I finally was.

Nothing