Gambrinus

Perched on the barstool
on crossed feet to look taller
he downed another pint
smacked down the mug

When he wanted to
if push came to shove
if the shit hit the fan
he could really mix it up

A low centre of gravity
fists as fat as hams
and an acumen buoyed
on barley and hops

He’d left the crown
on the bookshelf…
tonight was about drinking
and whatever else came his way

From Sonofabitch Poems, 2011

A lightening

droplets of condensation 
down the cheap tin
of the cheap can
residual handprint bleeding water

the vacant chair
threadbare from years of lounging
a scratchy radio in the background
ancient songs
antique sounds

She still nags, chicken-pecking in the kitchen, about this, that, the other thing, almost drowning out the broken music. What she doesn’t realize is that

he’s gone
after all these years
up and left
beer still cold
chair still warm
no longer there to listen
no longer there to care
or
not
care

he walks down the driveway
smoking a Camel
his other hand twitching
the straw that broke the camel’s back
Farm Horror © R L Raymond

From Weakdays, Corrupt Press