Fflow
Goodbye
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2001
- Posts
- 12,314
Ive got two for you
This first I wrote a long time ago and never really finished. It was to be a song. I have several versions, this being the first. It is about a little hole in the wall that one might easily walk past without ever knowing it was there, yet it was a temporary home for a strange mix of college students, lost souls, poets, musicians, and artists.
All the characters in the poem are real, and some I still know.
Bistro Logic (The Cafe Bistro in Long Beach, CA)
The cigarette smoke hangs heavy as the jukebox plays a tune
That everyone remembers from their childhood days in June
When summer suns, and summer skies, were better than today
When life was free and simple, and we lived from day to day.
The pitchers stand like soldiers, as the regulars march in
The desperate, anxious hours past, and rituals begin...
Strategic placement of the coat, the book, the glass, the butt
To stake a claim from opening until the door is shut.
There's some who want the book-case, and some who love the bar
Still others who love foosball, and one's the jukebox star,
And every single person has a story they can spin
About the Cafe Bistro, and how it sucked them in.
As Faye adjusts her plastic hair, and Dave adjusts his eye,
Brian talks of politics with any passer by
Jenny comes for strangers but the faces never change
The regulars are friendly, but most are really strange
Some are rich, and some are poor, and some have gained or lost it
Some are bald, some are blind, some have hair that's frosted...
All are there as brothers in the family of beer
To drink away the hours until 2 am is here.
And when, at last, the dreaded words, "Last Call" are said by Faye
The regulars are slow to stand, and slow to go away.
There lingers for a moment just one hope of a reprieve
And then, when hope is gone at last, they all begin to leave.
The empty glasses soaking, the empty pitchers dry
The smoke is slowly clearing, from Faye, a quiet sigh
As memories of Dick drift past, then fade into the night
She walks, alone, toward the door, and switches off the light.
This first I wrote a long time ago and never really finished. It was to be a song. I have several versions, this being the first. It is about a little hole in the wall that one might easily walk past without ever knowing it was there, yet it was a temporary home for a strange mix of college students, lost souls, poets, musicians, and artists.
All the characters in the poem are real, and some I still know.
Bistro Logic (The Cafe Bistro in Long Beach, CA)
The cigarette smoke hangs heavy as the jukebox plays a tune
That everyone remembers from their childhood days in June
When summer suns, and summer skies, were better than today
When life was free and simple, and we lived from day to day.
The pitchers stand like soldiers, as the regulars march in
The desperate, anxious hours past, and rituals begin...
Strategic placement of the coat, the book, the glass, the butt
To stake a claim from opening until the door is shut.
There's some who want the book-case, and some who love the bar
Still others who love foosball, and one's the jukebox star,
And every single person has a story they can spin
About the Cafe Bistro, and how it sucked them in.
As Faye adjusts her plastic hair, and Dave adjusts his eye,
Brian talks of politics with any passer by
Jenny comes for strangers but the faces never change
The regulars are friendly, but most are really strange
Some are rich, and some are poor, and some have gained or lost it
Some are bald, some are blind, some have hair that's frosted...
All are there as brothers in the family of beer
To drink away the hours until 2 am is here.
And when, at last, the dreaded words, "Last Call" are said by Faye
The regulars are slow to stand, and slow to go away.
There lingers for a moment just one hope of a reprieve
And then, when hope is gone at last, they all begin to leave.
The empty glasses soaking, the empty pitchers dry
The smoke is slowly clearing, from Faye, a quiet sigh
As memories of Dick drift past, then fade into the night
She walks, alone, toward the door, and switches off the light.