Array ( [sid] => 140189 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => i was sitting in a corner [time] => 2008-02-02 11:12:59 [hometext] => [bodytext] => i was sitting in a corner

next to the bathroom,
and there was
a phone on the wall.
it was busted,
and there were
maybe half a dozen
people at the bar;

there was a man
and a woman
who looked old
and comfortable
in the way they
leaned on their elbows
and stared straight ahead.

every now and then
they'd make a joke
and laugh.

at the other end of the bar
was another man and woman
who were arguing loudly
about whether or not
benzedrine
was a drug.

and, in the corner,
seated alone,
was a guy in his 50s.

he had the gut
and the smokes
and the boots.

his shirt was rolled up,
and he didn't just drink...
he DRANK.

he'd sit at the bar,
staring at his beer
for 20 minutes or so,
not moving (other than to smoke),
not touching his beer,
just looking down and thinking.

then he'd pick it up
and finish it off, real quick.

just like that.

he'd pick it up
and polish it off...
and then he'd start all over again,
doing his thing,
looking as if
the only thing he really knows
is that the future
is never
quite
what it used to be.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 194 [topic] => 43 [informant] => JohnYamrus [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 2 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops ) Your Poetry Dot Com - i was sitting in a corner


i was sitting in a corner
Date: Saturday, 2nd February 2008 @ 11:12:59 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: JohnYamrus
i was sitting in a corner

next to the bathroom,
and there was
a phone on the wall.
it was busted,
and there were
maybe half a dozen
people at the bar;

there was a man
and a woman
who looked old
and comfortable
in the way they
leaned on their elbows
and stared straight ahead.

every now and then
they'd make a joke
and laugh.

at the other end of the bar
was another man and woman
who were arguing loudly
about whether or not
benzedrine
was a drug.

and, in the corner,
seated alone,
was a guy in his 50s.

he had the gut
and the smokes
and the boots.

his shirt was rolled up,
and he didn't just drink...
he DRANK.

he'd sit at the bar,
staring at his beer
for 20 minutes or so,
not moving (other than to smoke),
not touching his beer,
just looking down and thinking.

then he'd pick it up
and finish it off, real quick.

just like that.

he'd pick it up
and polish it off...
and then he'd start all over again,
doing his thing,
looking as if
the only thing he really knows
is that the future
is never
quite
what it used to be.


This poem is Copyright © JohnYamrus


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