twelve o’clock somewhere

i ask the bartender for a limerick of metaphors. she’s a bit shocked given i’m alone and it’s 3 p.m. but asks me how i take them. literally, i tell her

i quietly knock them back then turn to my laptop. the page is blank but after my fourth and fifth drink i could start making out a few figures

“can i get another?” she looks at me, “tabs aren’t infinite you know.” i look up at her and she can see i’m confused, “fine, but i hope you don’t expect to find any meaning in there.” she pours out the spirit

i look back at my computer. that one (i point to a cloud far to the right) most definitely looks like an ox. i take note of a few of the other shapes i find and write them down. the sky is clearly endless, i write in the margin, but i wonder if there are endless clouds to fill it

after a while i sit up, pat off my hands and brush the dirt off my head. i suppose it’s time. raising my hands over my eyes, i turn towards the sun. hoping to catch it within the next two hours or so, no time to loiter

i can’t let it get too late