2 - Submarine Hate Poetry: Scorpio Rising

On the island of Crete there is a bar by the name of Scorpio. This is located in an ancient harbor and of all the sailor bars in this mythical town, this one found a particularly solid place at the bottom of the list. This place had obscure European 70's classic rock blaring uncomfortably in a tinny manner, the musk of thousand of years of urine soaked into the stone floor, a rich patina of yellow tobacco smoke stickily lining the walls and horizontal surfaces, and a bevy of international young women to serve drinks as the owner held their work visa and passports whilst lowering their agreed upon wages. It was like a sailor's dream come to life!

Scorpio Rising

Dingy, yellow light
Confines us.
Preventing
the resolution of detail.
Money and
Emblems and
Identification and
Credit cards
Juxtaposed on the walls
like evidence of explosion.
An edifice to who we were.
Who we are.
In the dark recesses,
Tears cower
Held back by a dam of pride.
Some squeaky speaker
Parrots popular music
masking true emotion
Over and over.
Upstairs,
Next to the broken shitter,
I left my pride.