Beard Bar Owner

The universe is a beast, a drunken stupor egotistic horse at a bar. It comes in trays layered in the same aluminium foil without windows. It carves a hole, plants seeds, waters the lawn while you are still there, at the park looking over, unafraid. It displays this sadistic contorted mind with no sympathy to the wise. It cracks a joke with an appetite of an hungry racoon. It blisters, pokes, flusters. It perferates your soul with a long pointy needle cruising through your vein like moving x-ray while trying to sing you a song. It wounds but leaves no stain or scar or oil in the engine. It marches unfiltered but possessed. It keeps going anesthetized, gray and bewildered even when untreated. It does not waste an instance nor bow. It rolls relentlessly shoving a story at you, expecting you to buy it cheap. It sends you the most obnoxious heatwave that comes thundering like an unscripted runway train, assuming it to stop on the next station but standing stoic on the corner is, tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow; the wiseass beard bar owner who comes running down the pipe like a protective mother goose to quietly lay it on the table, “Nope. This way please!” Huh?!
©️Angela Aguiar