remember when this bar was sticky?

The floors, the walls, the air
Was sticky?
You walked in, across the axminster tongue
Which was rough as a cat’s,
Sat at the bar and felt
Like you were putting your hand down the back
Of your smoker aunt’s couch?
The walls were filmy, some old kitchen
With no exhaust fan
The trackmark watermarks of last Friday’s
Threshing bodies
Streaking the paint.

And the street was sticky then too
No retro furnishings
Stylish nondescript fashion
The street was full of junkies
Walking up and down and fighting like junkies do
A lank haired girl with Joni Mitchell cheekbones
Stamping her legs down in staccato punches
Behind an acne scarred man
In a FILA windcheater who’s yelling
“fuck that Krista, fuck that ya fucking bitch”

Remember when this bar was sticky?

Before they wiped life beautifully clean
On the street they asked you if you were chasing
And inside, on Thursday nights,

They asked you if you were gay
It was the Q and A of
Q and A

Queer and Alternative beasties
All came out to play.

And I wore white singlets, with denim skirts
And a belt made from an embroidered guitar strap
And tried not to look out of place
Or just so reprehensibly straight
Standing beside a 6’3″ goth with four syringe points
Threaded into the skin on this cheek
They played No Doubt
I was filled with them
I wanted a really cool pair of Doc Martens
And someone to tell me they loved me
And if they didn’t love me
They could tell me that they liked me
And if they didn’t like me
They could tell me that they wanted me
My back against the wall with its moist palmprints fading
Feet adhered to the cat tongue carpet
Their hand reaching to the dusty, seamy crevasses of me

Do you remember
When this bar was sticky?