The Painted Lizard Poem by Jose Armando Guzman

The whiskey was always
flowing at the Painted
Lizard Cafe.

Little did I know that
those bar stools would
be part of the testament
that would become
this hazy memory.

The Painted Lizard Cafe.
Just another place to
roll the dice and try to
lose the past or maybe
gain a little bit of humanity.

It is all part of that a farce
that is played throughout
dives all over the world.
One more drink to celebrate
or one last one to forget.

There is never one last one.
Just like the broken steps
at The Painted Lizard
we are just stumbling
into the grave.