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*The Bar Stool Poet (The Tales Of The Wandering Writer)
by Jersey D GibsonLOCATION: Local Sports Bar, 'Shooters'
The sound of pool balls cracking together,
and drinks slamming down on the bar.
Voices and cigarette smoke in the din,
and someone revving their car.
There I sat, with a beer in my hand,
third barstool from the right.
In walked a man, much more than a vargrant,
and his smell was something of a fright.
As he sat there, right next to me,
and he slowly turn his head.
He looked at me with big bright eyes,
and this is what he said...
He said...
"My clothes came from a dumpster,
I haven't bathed in a week.
People wrinkle their noses at me,
and tell how much I reek.
I have no money,
and I can't get a place.
No job wants to hire me,
Please, can you spare some change?"
Four pool players from behind us,
all shouted out, "What the hell?"
They looked to our end of the bar,
and asked us "What's that Godawful smell?"
They went over to the vagrant,
and grabbed his arms and feet.
Picked him up, and carried him out,
and tossed him into the street.
I paid my bill, and left that bar,
and stepped out, into the night.
I looked around for that begger man,
but he was nowhere in sight.07/01/2002 Posted on 07/01/2002
Copyright © 2025 Jersey D Gibson
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