A foul and acrid odor greets the nose
and violates the shirt, the pant, the underwear
for hours, days, weeks, unwashed.
Plastic flip-top lid conceals
the quartered fruit, so dry
and old, unworthy of gin or tongue.
Tired, sad, bilirubin-stained faces
surround the parallelogram
giving more than they receive
and much less than they asked for.
Age marked in hollows, dents, and chips.
Laughters, hard and coarse, rise above
the jukebox boom of same old songs
that all have heard and hummed and heard.
The owner buys a drink for one who
surely needs so much more