The Poet

The Poet

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Jes Walkin'Home by Ron Porter ©2016

Yeah, Brady Street is really drunk tonight,
rolling and unsteady under my feet.
The closed barrooms' windows are paranoid,
they suspiciously watch me down the street.
I've an unredeemed dream in my pocket;
I got a broken heart in my shoe;
memories dangle from the traffic signs but,
I neither miss, nor think, about you.
Don't panic; the buses are still running,
and the cops are guarding the doughnut stand.
It's my mind, not my heart, hung on my sleeve
and, I'm just about all out of lies to believe.

Everybody listen with your left ear
a secondhand watch marks  time on my hand.
I was thinking about visiting Suzie the floozy;
shes a real wild one, and very prolific.
But, I got a stubborn case of urethritis and,
the doc said that it's nonspecific.
And, there ain't nobody waiting up for me.;
Solitary, independent, my time is all my own.
I'm my "one and only" and i don't get lonely,
I just like spending all of my time alone.

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