Insanity

They all end up in the bar eventually,
on foot, in wheelchairs, livery cabs,
stretch limos, riding mowers, wearing
torn-at-the-knees tuxedos, ties askew,
wine stained and bloodied or in track
suits after running a marathon chased
by demons, plain clothes cops, packs
of feral dogs only they can see, in bib
overalls so caked in manure they can
barely breathe or in hospital gowns
double knotted at the back, their life
savings in fanny packs around their
waists, blood type and date of admission
typewritten in plastic wrist bands they
hadn’t bothered to remove or in clown
suits, rugby shirts, laid-out-for- viewing
formal duds, punked out and glittered,
their eyes so glazed they can no longer
see, all of them laughing at jokes without
punch lines only they can hear, talking
to friends so far gone they are no longer
memories, ghost lights flickering from
their finger-tips where they touch glass.