art music poetry #58

Opus 1788 Background so good I made no splash upon it

Opus 1788
Background so good I made no splash upon it

                Last Night in Rochester

 

Rolling Stones 1-4-5 through well-hung speakers

At the Rose & Crown.  William no longer haunts

The thin aisle behind the bar.  There are nights,

Oh there are nights.  BrowneDog as a

Walt-Doug-Mike trio:  beers.  Many beers

And many happy drunken songs they cheered to.

Six long-toothed chrome handles jar to reveal

Refrigerated wine, and occasional beers for those

Rude enough to eschew pint-sized draughts.

Now Iggy Pop, then, a sputtering Greek-vacationing

Green card candidate.  The new waitress stretches

Which changes the angle on her heaving breasts.

Sickly sweet cigar smoke wafts olfactorily:

Then cool air radiates off a fresh skirt,

Through the crowded bar, to push at you.

Is it the hands or face that hold it?  Maybe it

Takes a certain perfume.  This bird smells good.

The special tonight, like every night, is Foster’s,

But isn’t it great the way breasts, in profile

Stick proud nipples right at you?  Now Gina

Arrives with a guy I haven’t seen named Mingo.

I sit on a beaten stool, attempting smiles,

Waiting for a ride from town to Dianne’s suburb.

You know how it feels to be leaving

Your home town and sitting in a now-strange

Bar?  How many times has the world

Evolved while you sat quaffing a pint?

Just when will it turn your way?  Or if it

Has already turned, will you notice in time?

Someone throwing darts hits a low C, and

Carlos, the young man who stands in

William’s stead, draws a Whitbread that

Rounds out your tour of British Pub Pints.

Still, the people you’ve come to meet will not

Attend. A skirt offers one last sniff, quaff, laugh.

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