Monday, April 18, 2011

poem of the day 04.18.11


missy is sitting at the end of the bar
swaying to 1960s protest songs
although she is too old to really hear them

the bartender is singing her the lyrics
in between throwing splashes of jack in glasses
and setting down pints of beer

her goes down to missy
bends over the bar
leans near her left her and sings

missy mumbles her approval
keeps swaying to the music

this is pure beauty, the bartender tells us
this is the kind of thing that makes your night

he throws us down two more pints
but doesn’t make us pay

because we seem understanding
because we listen

a few hours ago i had a pack
of the usual ignorant republicans in here

they kept interrupting me while i was talking

they kept calling me a nigger lover
because i voted for obama

the bartender looks at missy
her head is down and she appears
as though she may hit the bar at any moment

but she, he says to us,
she’s made up for all of them by coming in tonight

the bartender excuses himself
goes back down to missy
bends over the bar and takes her hand, startling her

he sings into her ear again

if you’re going to san francisco
be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

suddenly missy awakens
takes her hand away and claps
as the bartender looks down at us
smiling over the triumph of his glorious night.

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