Tanked

There is an ambiance to the Inn.

The rustic décor and a line
        of motorcycles
                  parked curbside.

The old man, sips his scotch
        at the end of the bar.
Sawdust spread over
        the splintered floor,
covers plywood patches,
        soaks up spilt booze.

Loud music blares,
        rhythm out of sync
              with the beat.

Cool breezes blow
         through the door,
college boys in country club dress,
         take a walk
                  to the other side.

Smoked glass mirror
         distorts reflection,
cigarette smog hangs,
         halo lights glow.
Green algae tints
         the aquarium glass,
piranha drift in water,
        bikers swim in beer.

Goldfish splash
        in the fish bowl,
preppies slosh
       around the bar.

Feeding time, happy hour.

Bubbles float,
        drip, drop,
                lava lamp.

A push-- a shove-- a punch.

Strobe and black-light flash.

A frenzy -- a fury--  a fight.

Big fish eat little fish,
        ashes burn and tarnish.

Jukebox rust drips in the air,
         blood stains
                  the sawdust floor.

The catfish stick to the bottom
       the old man sits in the corner
                                              drunk.