He was drunk, of course; they’re always drunk,
down by the railroad station at night,
and cold in the early December gloom,
with the buttons gone off his coat.
“Excuse me”, he said, his hand on my shoulder,
“I lost my carfare, I want to go home”.
He pointed across to the bus at its stop,
and beyond it the neon sign “BAR”.
I gave him some money to buy him a drink
(the night was very cold). As he took it,
his hand shook, but he tried to stand straight.
“Thank you, God bless you” the ritual ended.
He crossed the street to the bus and the bar;
and got on the bus to go home.
=======================================
Please Support Our Sponsors
Brought to You by:
The Complete Guide to Poetic Composition
by Professor Martinus van Ruysbroeck
"It doesn't have to rhyme, but at the very least it should scan"
Available at fine bookstores everywhere
No comments:
Post a Comment