Shadows in a Glass

Stumbling - streetlights flicker— dim, broken neon beams,

Under dripping gutters, down cracked stone seams,

and he feels

it pull. . . . like magnets through

thick, stale fog, that smell

of bitters and wood-soaked smoke—

he goes down

that alley alone.

Barstool creaks under spine’s bend,

Liquor runs like rain, it stings like sin -

Soft jazz and sorrowed piano keys

—they echo hollow. Echo heavy—

where the light is low.

First sip—

and a whisper drifts up, soft;

close as breath, sharp as rust:

“Kid, you're in the wrong place.”

Face in shadows,

an eye glint and cigarette’s glow,

gangsters, thick coats and frozen sneers—

they fill the mirrors

and shadows in corners bend.

Fog rolls in thick through the door,

heavy as concrete, slow as nightfall. . .

Glass after glass,

he starts to feel

it, sinking in, pulling down,

and the faces—

they leer,

they lean in close,

whisper smoke-stained memories:

rum runners, backroom spills, and rotted swills.

Hands with phantom bullet holes,

throats slit, scars on chins,

they laugh like gunfire.

Shadows sway, the bar spins,

and his head’s a fog, lost in gin—

soft jazz hums, dark like the grave,

and his heart skips

with the haunted haze.

Grows dark-

er and deep

er,

and the gangsters, the laughter—

a thousand nails on the walls. . .

Orchestral swings, warped by the reverb

of a cursed vinyl’s scratch.

Breath clogs in his chest,

last drink down, sinking. . .

they’re all here for one more round.

He sees it now—

they’ve taken him in.