Neon Sign

the neon sign of the bar across the street
transfers me to a whole other town,
somewhere so far away I've only
reached in drunk dreams.

I stand at the balcony, Wild Turkey in hand,
laughing because I've gotten drunk in the bar
plenty a-time, it's nothing like the dives

the neon sign promises. catering to the rich,
my tabs are always three digits even when
I desperately try to keep it modest.

it's right across the street and I know
the owner; no better place to have a drink (or ten),
after you've gone out with
sober friends who can't handle a second drink.