Monday, July 6, 2009


of all the nights
in all the bars
I’ve spent drinking
in this drinking town
and all the nights
I’ve spent working
at the door of a bar
or behind a bar
in this bar lover’s town
the bastard has never bought a single drink
he comes in and out
in and out
he makes his rounds
and he must visit every single bar
in this pretty, little town
on every single night
of every single week
of every single year
he comes in
and looks about
does a lap around the bar
most times he just nods
but sometimes he says to me
“I’m looking for some action
looking for the hot spot
the place to be
and this sure ain’t it.”
the bar could be jam packed
or totally dead
it doesn’t matter
I shrug him off
whether I’m dead sober
or bombed back to World War One
but I silently wish
that he finds that hot spot
and stays there
because I am so sick and tired
of seeing him around
going in and out
in and out
of every single bar
in this fine, portside town
and never, ever buying a drink

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