April 8, 2020

Sitting On A Bar Stool

sitting on a bar stool in a lifeless empty bar
half drank bottle staring me in the face
18 uh, no 21 and wondering where life will take me
don’t wanna ride no cattle car into the coke plant
the rest of my life that’s for sure
but what to do--what to do
maybe the west coast, canada, someplace, anyplace
old men with 30 years sitting next to me
pensions sure but is that all there is to life


sitting on a bar stool in a crowded bar
music bass drumming my eardrums 
the easy girls playing hard to get at least with me
25 and got people to do—things to see
other jobs, college, back to other jobs
waiting for my ship to come in
I’m a long way from the docks
but I’m still young and time is on my side jack
maybe tomorrow--maybe next year


sitting on a bar stool at 11am winter day
made it through the night with my friend Mr. Beam
40 and fading fast like the cheap new jeans I got on
no longer young--no longer stoked with dreams, just kicks in the teeth
tell my troubles to the bottle with no genie in it
it listens but doesn’t offer any answers
my ship must of sank somewhere off newfoundland with large loss of life
CQD CQD not enough rowboats to go around nearer my god to thee
floating in the icy atlantic almost hypothermic 


sitting on a bar stool with some old men my age by me
still staring at those damn bottles I’ve come to know well
60 and bitter, morose, misanthropic
don’t give a damn about anything anymore anytime
not a care in the world—I’m careless
if life ends tonight I don’t care about that either
I’ve seen enough, been through enough, enough is enough is enough 
problems just bounce off me like a trampoline
with my luck I’ll live to 100 but I died long ago

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