Fifty Minutes

One of two poems written last night at Leadbetters around one am. I love Leadbetters.

Fifty Minutes

You could set the clock forward fifty minutes
And everyone would thank you for doing it;
It's one now; closing time is two in this town;
We're all marking time and looking for excuses.

The singer's drooping in exhaustion, her voice broke
And she's coughing, the barflies can only hear
Each other laugh, looking at the same familiar face;
The girl and her date, each waiting for each other
To ask, would love a chance to walk home in the rain.

The billiard players are swaying on their feet
The business men, watching the tv, don't even
Know the score; they can feel those pillows now
Thinking about another hotel night alone;

And that's how we drink another
Sullen August Thursday here in Baltimore.