By Joseph S. Pete
They gathered at the corner tavern after the regulars retired for the night,
to mourn yet another colleague who moved on under the neon glow.
Wake after wake, the newsroom was a gushing abattoir
bleeding a slit gash of gore-splattered pink slips.
The sane ones all decamped for more pristine prospects long ago,
got sent off in a fuzzy haze of IPAs and background baseball.
They all sallied forth, stepped out, raised high their hazy pint glasses,
while the decaying content machine rumbled on, churning through whatever it could.
Amid the muddled boozy cloud that fogged those timeworn amniotic pubs,
those toasted were the only ones who could still see clearly.
Joseph S. Pete is an award-winning journalist, veteran, and frequent guest on Lakeshore Public Radio. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest. His literary work has appeared in more than 100 journals, including Dogzplot, Lumpen, and Punchnel’s. He once Googled the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, true story.