almost loyal

almost loyal
by Anthony Liccione

he told me,
burying his mother
was like burying
his dog,
both at-most
were a bitch
in his life.
i think how grim
those words will sit
in his coffin;
i was 3 beers
down my 4th,
when i asked the
waitress to bring
me another heineken,
she ran at once
her behind bouncing
to fetch me my beer,
so obedient, almost
loyal, i tipped
the end-bottle up,
watching the gulp
of bubbles racing
to the ceiling-mirror,
where reflection
refracted reflection,

i thought if ever dogs,
callously tried to dig up
my mother’s bones
in her grave,

when just then,
the waitress came back
with a pitcher of beer
and a newspaper,
a hearty cigar and
stack of smiles
across her face.
I began to think,
loyalty doesn’t come by
this dutiful, anyways
in this generation.

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