At The Comet

 1999 (c) 

After the art-house movie

God and I walked to the Comet for beer.

 

He leaned against the bar,

poured back an IPA

and ordered another.

 

“Christ, you read too much into it,” he said.

“Can’t you take anything at face value—

 just be entertained?”

 

I started to answer—

something about the director,

how his films used to mean something,

how big budgets had changed them—

 

but he was already looking past me

to his friends racking balls.

 

“Christ,” he said,

let’s shoot some pool.