You Can't Launch Fireworks in the Rain

Blake C. Patria By Blake C. Patria, 16th Sep 2014 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

A little snack for those who dig the bars. Have you ever been 86'd? I'll bet you have, you being a strong American with conviction as well as a cast-iron liver . . .

The midget-troll coerced me up the stairs

"I was just dancing," I said.
"I know," says the little man-boy, "but this is Footloose, and the liquor commissioner is here."
This day is Independence Day, July the Fourth, and I've been ejected for dancing a charming Irish jig for the ladies. They hate it when you can dance for the ladies, but more so when you can do it, and look less like a fag. People of rhythm have been ejected from bars for centuries in America; the gingers, the blacks, the queers, and all things around and/or in between. The barroom screws are threatened by rhythm (as they should be, knowing you are going home with their old lady they never wanted to get serious with).

So, there I stand on Independence Day in the rain, waiting, my friends not privy to this, for them to exit because my passion and rhythm poses a threat. Not just out the door, mind you, I am meant to stand on the bricks a good fifty feet from the bar . . . the bar where I've spent a great portion of my adult life, where I have seen things that made me as they broke me. In the defense of that little cunt on a power trip, it is technically July 5th so he has not cast me into a Footloose drizzle on Independence Day.

I stand in the rain with my mind eroding in the wait, my cell-phone dying so I cannot even tell the time. I ask the crowd standing outside of the bar if they have seen my friends. They tell me my friends have left, but I suspect them of elitist bullshit. This is when one cunt asks me if I have ever suffered a broken jaw before. My response to this is complex and distorted in my head; one part of me wishes to address the threat with physical violence while another part wishes to be diplomatic. This translates into my actions as me pulling out a switchblade to illustrate how I envision my self-defense from broken jaws. It translates to the douche who threatened me as a threat upon him, so he grabs my arm, and proceeds to pound my face.

Understanding this reasonable reaction to having a switchblade opened on you, I insist my diplomacy with, "stop punching me, I'm not even stabbing you! I'm not doing anything, you fucking eunuck" or whatever stupid nonsense I actually said.

At some point I must have blacked out from the beating because my right shoulder has never been the same; it is an absolute bitch to sleep on, and even taking my shirt off can be a pain some times. I do not remember the portion of this beating that led to this lingering ailment, but I do remember some junkie-looking, rat-faced bastard stomping the blade off of my knife that matched my eyes, and who I referred to as "my new girlfriend".

I did go home with that little dick's old lady that night, but nothing happened. I was in so much pain from the beating, I thought my arm was either dislocated, or my collar-bone was broken, or some horseshit like that. It was the last night I spent with that wonderful woman, and I was banned from the bar for six months, but at least the bartender who told me was cool about it. A lot of them are. I'm a pretty swell guy to them . . . but when I was trying to sell some discs out there, the little rat bastard who broke my blade said "we aren't comfortable with you hanging around here" . . . calling him a "rat bastard" isn't really fair though--even if he looks like one--because he never squealed to the cops like one or two others might have. To be honest, I have a feeling nobody who runs that place would squeal to the cops on me.
And that's why
it's still
one of my favorite bars--even when I hate it.
It is like a
dysfunctional family member
where I meet the rest of the town
that is my dysfunctional family.


Alcoholism, America, Bars, Dancing, Fights, Freedom, Independence, Patriotism, Poesy, Poetry

Meet the author

author avatar Blake C. Patria
My name is Blake C. Patria. I am a musician, a writer, a philanthropist, a philosopher, etc. I enjoy science and its fictions. I also enjoy philosophy and Punk Rock. My work will tell more :)

Share this page

moderator Peter B. Giblett moderated this page.
If you have any complaints about this content, please let us know


author avatar Fern Mc Costigan
16th Sep 2014 (#)

Awesome post and one of a kind too, cheers!

Reply to this comment

author avatar Blake C. Patria
16th Sep 2014 (#)

Thanks Fern!

Reply to this comment

Add a comment
Can't login?