On the bar

On the bar, the women come and go
short skirts amid feet, this is a reflection
seen once in their glasses

they say this city is a whore
scribe it unethical for lack of consideration
of holy water that is never dilluted like Vodka

this city is different, on the bar the women
come and go, like changing faces
like partners who share a secret then disappear

back-lit, this desire to make of a city
a human, with eyes that are shut
to the sound of fury, to the tearing of the trees

with legs open wide, forgetting that
sometimes, the women come and never leave
and that the city can be not shamed

for its feminine name, this is a bar that's
new, popping in like a zit on the face
of a terrain, unready to start and unwilling to learn

this is a judgment short, of course
made on a bar, late at night
in a city that hates its own guts, watching women
come and go
come and go
come and go