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A Night Out
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Life and Living Mary Lou stands there every night
filling frosted mugs
for people who are weary
after a hard day’s work.
Most of the time I sit
in a corner booth
sipping the house wine.
Mervyn the bartender
tells these god-awful stories
about what a Casanova he was
in his day.
Warren Stalnaker writes poems
and asks if I think they're
schmaltzy.
He gives them to his girl.
I have always liked that little bar,
unsophisticated as it is.
Papa always called it a boogie joint,
a little touch of the south.
Joints in my day meant a little
something more, and besides,
people don’t say boogie anymore.
Truth is, folks here meet somewhere
for nearly every occasion.
If it’s at the bar, we serve up
hot wings and beer
If it’s in a church, we serve
up potato salad and sweetened tea.
Either one beats the fool out of
standing around talking to my
half-cocked neighbor all evening.
