By Duane Anderson
PROMPT — The way I see it ...
If I learned of the meaning
of life last night, and this morning
I remember nothing about it.
The bartender de-programmed me,
taking my money,
handing me drinks
as my glass became empty.
I could do nothing about it
for I was taught to drink
lots of liquids when one had a cold,
though the type of liquids
I do not quite remember,
but somehow, I thought that
was a minor detail and consumed
those drinks one by one,
and now the meaning of life
passes me once again,
waiting to be found on some other night.
Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE. He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk, The Blood Drives: One Pint Down, and Conquer the Mountains.