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
To vagary
something drones
far back
behind the trees
beyond the fluttering
somewhere in the nondescript
a movement
in the sound
in the landscape undulating...
to miss and misinterpret
R L Raymond
From Half Myths & Quarter Legends
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
From Weakdays, Corrupt Press
R L Raymond 