Pecos

There is a permanent (beautiful) odor that
Slings Pecos whenever you enter through the
Wise old green door that embraces people with a smiling
Flit of beer pitchers and juggle of popcorn on a distant, dark table...
Where voices jangle like invisible trinkets and you wish to
Find the source of this myth. This magic that suddenly rips
You when you are inebriated on the fifth time they played Dylan..
They nicotine-ized nostrils with train of smokers lodged on the staircase....
You smile back at Bob Marley imposed on the ghoulish wall and it’s innocent
Rapture..
The creaking wooden table
And our eulogized nostalgia..
The colors, people and voices continue
To jazz in eyes. Like a monochrome picture clouded into vision.
The door rolls open and its one more of us...
In the yearning of beer
And the shelter of dark tables....