Inverted

In this city, the underground scene
is actually underground, and its locus
is a bar, connected and themed by tunnels and mud.
Two childhood sweethearts run it,
and each cocktail is named after a dinosaur.

He is tall and has
a thick scar across
his left eye, from a broken razor blade.
She is short and wears
pockmarks on her skin and
polka dots on her dresses.

It is last call and she will
walk home along the same
route as a major natural gas pipeline.
She has given a fake phone number
to a man at the bar,
but wishes she had given him
the real one.

On Sunday, she mows this drunk's lawn,
severs the roots from weeds
and leaves before he comes home.
He is sobered when he sees it
and never returns to her bar.

She is happier in the tunnels,
has given up both fresh air and smog,
marching bands, mathematics,
pan-handlers, government funding,
and this underground system of tunnels
make her better at navigating the internet.
Under Chinatown, she sees the city
not in nostalgia,
but inverted.