A hotel bar
scene beckons
back around 2016

One of the Primary Presidential Debates
rages, in-sync
spread evenly, over three TVs
our attention, hovering
framed in brown and green
Content
from glass bottle
making its way downstream

Our minds race, numbing
ingesting complexity
distilled, along party line
into something half-empty
shaken
and taken neat

Another night, afraid
Alone, in San Francisco

The screens fade to commercial
trickling down
from Federal to State
then later, to Local level

A car dealership bleeds
into mattress store jingle
as the space
settles between

“What the hell are we doing here, anyway”
He says, between beats

Our eyes
converge on his seat
at oval angles
caught somewhere between
Pre-
and-Post Meeting, professionally
letting off steam
We’d rather watch someone else
field the question

waiting…

It seems
I’m not the only one
who couldn’t find an answer, ready
as “three point nine nine per-cent A-P-R, with no credit check needed”
wipes the slate clean
“Come on down…when you’re here, you’re family”
One-by-One, our self-awareness gleans

Wooden legs
grind out, from under
as knees and coats lift, free
Heads nod
as tabs meet an urgent need
to settle any debt
that may be preventing retreat

I take the hint
calm spin
swinging out, toward elevator
She follows close, behind me
my finger, on the line
where two arrows meet
the possibility flees
as she
steps in, reaching between
two sides
trying to slide closed, together
our eyes meet in the mirror
“Going up?”
the only words I hear her speak
Looking, straight ahead
I reply, meek

At my stop, I get off
feel back-line energy
pulling on me

Reach in my pocket, trying
not to fumble my key

Inside, the door behind me
breaking charge, release

Still trying to remember
what the hell I’m doing here, please

Back of the Page

This poem popped in my head today based on a bizarre moment from a business trip to San Francisco around 2016. The Presidential Primary Debates were going on, and for some reason, everyone at the Hotel Lobby Bar was silently enraptured. Huddled over our drinks, somewhere in the space between today’s meetings and the next day, a group of strangers were drinking, professionally.

When all of a sudden, this guy breaks the silence, loudly:

“What the hell are we doing here, anyway?”

I couldn’t tell if it was an epiphany, a challenge, or a curiosity. As time lingered without a direct answer, it began to feel more like a threat. The recent political scene dawning on all of us, as we tried to numb out what we were seeing.

One by one, we all scooted our stools back and left. But, as I went to the elevator, the woman that was sitting next to me at the bar put her hand between the doors. “Going up?” she said, and I felt an intense energy. We were all alone, and lonely…and I felt that in the way she looked at me. As the mirrored doors of the elevator closed in front of us, and the car jolted awake, our eyes met. Shit, I don’t want to fumble things, in this way…I kept looking straight ahead. At the risk of sounding like Mike Pence, there was something charged about this situation.

At that moment, I thought “just go back to your room” so I did, and called Zanni to tell her about the weird guy at the bar, and the lady who I shared an elevator with. Maybe I’m reading into things, maybe I was just bored and lonely…but it had me wondering “what the hell am I doing here, anyway?”