Well, I haven’t had a beer in a long time.
Not a good beer, anyway.
Nope – last good beer I had was in a tiny little place
that was tucked between two buildings
across from the park that once held the swimming pool
that they tore down in a policical pissing contest between two damn fools….
So I no longer go there.
It was a nice bar,
quiet, a place to just sit and think about things,
about life, about death, about pain and about hurt,
and once in a while to enjoy a smile or two.
Or a good beer or two, hell, maybe three.
But you can’t do that any more.
When they tore down that swimming pool,
the idea must’ve caught on,
‘cause they tore down that old bar, too.
Nice old bar…
tucked away there, off the beaten track,
hardly anyone ever sat on those old stools any more…
hardly anyone ever went there any more…
I guess I was the only one who had his memories
tied to that old bar.
But they served up a damn fine draft,
just pull back on the tap handle,
let it flow, keep the head low,
and serve it up nice and cold,
but drink it down slow…
taste it, enjoy it,
and you got a great way to spend some time,
back, then,
back in that tiny old bar between two buildings
across from where the old swimming pool used to be…
until they tore it all down.
Pabst draft.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Shiloh

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.