One summer, there's an oxygen bar
upstairs, another, skinheads behind the dumpster. Always, pool tables, dartboard felt giving way. Karaoke's Friday, mulleted owner sidling out from behind the bar, mic in hand. Light up anywhere; that law hasn't reached us. But, cabs don't stop, so you'll want to hitch in a stranger's truck, bum endless smokes. Maybe you were born here too, beneath a sticky banquette, took first steps to a quavering rendition of Galileo, and are still tethered—heart, that stall with a bum lock, opens at a nudge, pays for the next round. |

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett is the author of four chapbooks, including Twice Shy forthcoming from Nomadic Press and Harm's Way forthcoming from dancing girl press. Her poetry can be found in Third Coast, The Journal, Granta, Quarterly West, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere. She serves as editor-in-chief of the queer literary journal Foglifter and lives in sunny Oakland, California.