a lady’s got a baby
in the bar at eleven thirty at night.  
he is wide awake.  the baby likes touching
our decorative carpet of living wheat grass, which
as the muddy headed owner has laid it,
appears to grow straight from the  white marble counter.
some guy poking roughly someone
with his crutch, fell without assistance.
now his jaw is scratched up.
now his hand is fucked up, and i think
I will serve him whatever he wants.