Empty Chair

He never missed a Thursday, same stool, same time, same jokes,
always had a story ready while he lit his smokes.
Last week the seat’s empty, just a coaster and a glare,
the barroom felt like winter with that empty chair.

The bartender kept looking, out of habit, out of hope,
someone played his favorite record, we all tried to cope.
The waitress wiped the counter like she scrubbed away a dream,
that empty chair became a wound for everyone it seemed.

I keep expecting footsteps, a greeting at the door,
but there’s only quiet bar talk and the hum of neon more.
He left behind his drink, his debts, his well-worn hat,
the empty chair keeps asking where a friend like him goes at.

Empty chair at the table where a friend once held court,
laughter echoes softer, conversation comes up short.
We toast to the stories that we’ll never hear again,
empty chair reminds us how it feels when heroes end.