The 500 Club

I come in here to not be recognized
Damn it
Most of the charisma’s in the sign’s fretting old neon martini glass anyway
Open at 6 am for the cops and the graveyarders and the amphetamine aficionados and the firefighters and the dipsos
And the pompadoured bastard behind the bar tells me
All living’s gotten to be pretty hard anyway
Where and when the spring’s gone and run off to
Too far ahead to catch as all it does is rain
Here is that’s that
While they won’t or never say
Don’t pass it on
I’ve got problems
Falling for girls who never fall back
The jukebox is jammed up with somebody’s idea of discreetness
Haircuts before lunch and perhaps a drink or six
And all the Hare Krishnas are singing for their supper
As the mistreated bozos get fearful at sunset
The ropes are looser though
Around my neck and slimmer through the hip
But the coffee’s on
And the gin’s getting better
Hysterical abortions and annulments of pride
We sacrifice until we don’t
Get me one of those from the bottle then
Subsided as I get
Regarded too little
Noticed too much
With a parking ticket in my back pocket
And blood on my sleeve
Testy and single as a dollar
Always someone else’s side to figure out
Honey
Decades of messes to clean up
Like the crapper’s vomit-reek in here
Or the sensible Up Yours
I keep getting from the other guests
I want to watch the gutters swell with the downpour’s worst
As I stand and lean against the wall outside…