when I was able to get out and about,
I knew of this old bar
that was between two buildings
in the next town over,
where they had a bar
that was probably beautiful
back in the 30s or so,
but they had Pabst on draught!
The handle had been there so long
the wood was worn in places
and the porcelain was cracked and crazed,
but the beer was just about perfect.
It's been so many years now,
that the place is likely long gone,
but I don't know,
and I don't want to know —
I want to remember that little place
just as I knew it then.
I don't want to have to replace that memory
with whatever else there might be now.

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