In two more hours I'll have to shower,
shave and coffee-prop my lids
and otherwise prepare for day. It's 4 a.m.
and now the barkeep, Griggs,
is rushing me, the first
to come, the last to leave,
the lad who just an hour before
was coaxed to quaff one more.
At work I'll cummerbund a smile,
hold my head and sit all day,
play another endless game
of solitaire or tic-tac-toe.
Griggs' apron's off. The neon's out
and now he'll set the locks in back.
The spittle, butts and half-slain beers
he'll leave for Willie who'll soon be here
to dance his broom between
the tables and the scattered chairs
as smoothly as Kelly or Astaire.
At 6 a.m., he'll climb the ladder
near the door and aim his broom
through the transom toward the sky.
Every morning Willie puts another
bullet through the eye of sunrise.
by Donal Mahoney
- Rusty Chain
- The Wisdom of Poppies
- Broken Asshole
- Dusty Bloom
- BOOTS LIKE LOVE
- fireworks in the park
- Night Sonnet No.4
- The Drunk
- Strange Blindness - Sonnenizio on a line from Stac...
- Delassandro’s Meat Market
- Dead as Dillinger
- Linden Three Seven
- my new landlord
- Tornadoes in the Parlor
- Griggs' Bar and Grill
- Vilde Berg
- One Day’s Settlement Of Chaos
- On The History Of The Red And Black Races In Ameri...
- Bombs For You
- Good View
- now and then
- THE PHOTOGRAPH, COVE POINT
- Exterminating Angel
- Way Ahead of the Game
- the gutter bible ....chapter three: a song for ch...
- housing project reunion
- ▼ January (34)
- ► 2009 (484)