The Racket-ty Life
By Ewan
Tue, 14 Apr 2020
- 453 reads
Tom sets
a barfly's poems
to music played
on pawn-shop
instruments
by tramps, drunks
and palookas.
Mean streets meander
through every city:
if that’s your latitude
- let’s walk awhile
through souk, bazaar,
stube and bardak;
places where the women
wear some clothes
but not many
and the drinks
cost more than
Evian at the Ritz.
In bars with booths:
outsiders are inside
at the time
of the last plague
when the blame
fell on those out
-siders shoulders.
Watching, waiting
writing things down
making things up.
Drinking, ducking,
diving for pearls
among swine like us.
We make our
own poetry
out of history
and lies,
then sing it at the moon.
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