Born And Raised by Steven Storrie

The bar is dingy
And the music doesn’t fit
It’s all modern pop shit
And the guys in here
Predate the fucking building
They think Sinatra is still alive
Most of them

She collects my empty glass
I remember when this place
Was the old bowling alley
I say
Making conversation
I don’t remember that

She shrugs
Disinterested
In my memories
In me
I wasn’t born then
She trudges away
Weary
4 hours of her shift
Still left to go.

I look at the rain sodden carpark
Headlights puncturing the dull grey drizzle
Of just another day
And wonder
If you don’t recognise the places you’re sitting in
If none of it looks the way it was before you left
And all the people you knew are gone.
Then
Can you really
still call it home?

Steven Storrie

Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this shit he is currently locked in his basement working on his first collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. You can find him at @renegadepriest1

 

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