tagNon-Erotic PoetryThe Bar Regulars (some)

The Bar Regulars (some)


The Bard

He's been a regular since
well before my time behind this bar,
claims to be a thespian
his specialty, Shakespeare.  
As if to sustain the claim he
peppers his boozy banter with
quotations in a rich Cantab accent.  

In earlier days he was generous,
buying rounds and tipping big
but now he scrounges
from customers and bar alike
and tips staff with phony
philosophical advice.

Not many get away with airs
 or attitude in here but The Bard
adds achromatic class so they buy him drinks
until he's stumbling and mumbling
much ado about nothing.


She presents well,
long blond, designer clothes,
 expensive perfume,
could be a lawyer,  professor
or movie star but she drinks like a fish
and has the mouth of a trooper.

Her preference is malted scotch
and she knows the whiff of anything
from under the counter.  The regulars
are reticent  until they hear her swear ,
she fits right in and drink flows freely
until well after closing time.  

I've found white powder
on the counter of the Ladies' room
after closing up and suspect
she's a junkie.  After a month as a regular,
one January, she invites herself into the back room,
leans over a stack of crates,
and I take her from behind,
the empties ringing the New Year.

The Baron

His accent, strong, unidentified,
could be Hungarian as he claims
but here everyone's a potential
Oscar winner.   He bolsters his claim
to chateaus and land with pictures of
craggy castles, sylvan lakes, rustic farms
but he is threadbare, thrifty and sly.
Avoiding direct questions he leaves details,
specifics aside, counting on his charm
to blind the curious and woo the fair sex.
His other claim, to swordsmanship,
refers not to duels or fencing
but to sexual prowess, legendary
he claims and, to his credit,
the ladies love him.  I'm told his
under-the-covers manner is smooth and
satisfying for a man of sixty and that his
sword would be the envy of men half his age.

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