Paid in Change

Paid in Change They swapped the jukebox for a touchscreen, Put twelve-dollar gin behind the bar. Friday night brought twenty spotless hats And a line that stretched past every car. I kept pouring doubles, making small talk, While the old crowd quit coming my way. I’m the bartender. I pour, they pay. Here I am, still working late, Counting tips when they clear the place. I laugh at what this bar became, Then pay my rent with all that change. I can cuss the crowd. I can curse the game. But I still get paid in change. They dance in rows they learned last Tuesday, Watching someone’s video between each song. The house band plays along with a backing track, And nobody knows when the singer’s wrong. I roll my eyes while I clear their glasses, Then pocket five from a kid I mocked. He said, “Dude, this place is something special.” I said, “It was,” and punched the clock. Here I am, still working late, Counting tips when they clear the place. I laugh at what this bar became, Then buy my groceries with all that change. I can cuss the crowd. I can curse the game. But I still get paid in change. They hauled the old bar stools out last July. I helped stack them by the alley wall. One had Eddie’s name cut underneath it. I never told the new boss that at all. He said, “Business finally turned around.” I said, “Yeah,” and poured another round. Then I served the room that replaced my friends And swept their money off the ground. Here I am, still working late, Counting twenties when they clear the place. I know exactly what this bar became, And I’m still living off the change. I can miss the past. I can hate the game. But I still get paid in change. Yeah, I still get paid in change.