NO BETTER PLACE TO BE

It’s Tuesday afternoon

we should

probably have jobs

we should

probably have better things to do

and yet here we sit

A loud belch

from across the bar

recalls a shot of cheap whiskey

and another bottle of beer

is placed in front of me

Freddie Mercury is singing,

“Fat Bottomed Girls”

on an old fashion jukebox

I realize that I really

have no better place to be

a bum I might otherwise

look down upon

throws a kernel of popcorn at me

to keep me from nodding off

A guy wearing too much cheap cologne

occupies the stool next to me

I have to face away

as the fragrance of cheap booze

is more palpable

I down a shot of tequila

and reminisce about a girl

that I used to know

oh so many years ago

Somehow,

that all got messed up

My beer is 3 quarters full

and depressingly, sadly

I really don’t have

any better place to be

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1102807

CASH ONLY

A sign sets you straight:

It’s a cash only bar

and a bottle or Red Stripe

will set you back 3 bucks

It’s a dank bar

and most of the patrons

seem to be local

I hear “Hold on Loosely”

on the jukebox

and I’m suddenly remembering

a bad 80’s comedy “Spring Break”

even though the movie

used “Caught Up in You”

Some bands sound the same

regardless the song they play

although I used to crush big time

on the actress in the film

whose name I no longer remember

I see one of the locals

ordering a shot of Fireball

and on a dare

I order one too

In this situation

It’s just the right thing to do

Of course,

the guy bathed

in way too much cheap cologne

has to sit within 5 feet

Bring back social distancing

for the love of God

the sweat of the unwashed masses

is far less offensive

In turning away to save my nose

I notice the TV is running

“Oh Brother, Where Art Thou”

on a fuzzy screen

I’m not a man of constant sorrow

I feel great joy

an awful lot of the time

but a subversive film

in a local bar

deserves another shot of Fireball

another shot, another beer

set back another 8 bucks

It might be a long night after all

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1102779

CLEAR PATHWAY HOME

Quietly nursing a beer

anxiously awaiting a cup of chili

listening to two young ladies

that somehow lost their way—

couldn’t rent a car

couldn’t get a hotel,

missed a concert, had a 5 AM flight

a lot of porno flicks start out like that

but I’m not qualified to direct or star

I come up short

in both categories

no skill with a camera

and well, you know

we don’t need to go there

It’s not common decency

keeps me from posting dick pics

I wish I had words of wisdom

or at least some witty repartee

but I sit quietly sipping beer

a game is played by God knows who

airing on a flat screen TV

I feign interest in the action

It’s fucking baseball
I’d have a better chance popping a boner

watching paint dry on a fence

the two young ladies converse

with an elegant elderly woman

they’re having a good time

in spite their run of bad luck

I can see I’m not needed here

but the chili is warming

and I have a clear pathway home

and a dog waiting there

that actually does think I’m special

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1109907

RUN IN MY PANTY HOSE

It’s fairly well known that a lot of football players used to wear panty hose underneath their uniforms in colder weather.  Joe Namath and the Oakland Raiders were well known offenders. Several magazines felt the need to sensationalize the issue.   It made perfect sense to do so in spite the insecurities and biases of many homophobic football fans.  The sheer nature of the fabric provided warmth without being bulky or obtrusive.  I sometimes wore panty hose under my football uniform when I was young.  It was helpful to performance.  The panty hose barely showed so people generally wouldn’t notice if you were wearing them.  You really only had a small area of the calf between the sock and the shin guards.  Of course, I always dreaded that that would be the precise area where I got a run.  I have hairy legs poking through and causing problems.  You know if a run is visible someone is going to notice.  Alert the social pages, we have a major breech of protocol.  The embarrassment was always hard to live down when it happened.

Try to hide snafu

a run in my panty hose

endless shame we face

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1102833

YOU REALLY SHOULD KNOW BETTER

You’re 57 years old

You really should know better

(and you do know better)

but knobbly knees

you go with the flow

and succumb to darker angels

You are old enough

You really do know better

yet still

you make the call

a shot of Rock and Rye

Original Jacquins

experiments in liquor

and the effects on human bodies

way too early, way too late

pretend you don’t know better

it’s still mid afternoon

and shots have been absorbed

You’ll regret it in the morning

You’ll regret it in an hour

You really do know better

and yet still

here we are

sitting in a local watering hole

and it’s happening

You hear the chatter at the bar

It reaches deafening levels

with only about six people speaking

getting louder and louder

You watch the bartender pour the shot

Regrets will be abundant

but it’s still a moment

lived in real time

for better or worse

You’re 57 years old

You really should know better

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1127168

PART OF THE PROBLEM

so I descend

wishing to traverse time

Hemmingway drank here

with a cast of ne’er do wells,

pirates and twisted characters

but the color and flavor

altered and diminished

by tourists eyes glued

to hand held devices

complaints about hotel pillows

irreparably destroy the mood

I’m drinking craft beer

out of a souvenir plastic cup

so I have to own the moment

that I’m part of the problem, too

I look across the street

at souvenir shops

guessing they weren’t there

when Ernest was getting plastered

and regaling his court of misfits

It occurs to me that

a great novel isn’t going

to be started tonight

Maybe we’ll just settle

for a whiny ass poem

about how much things change

I can gripe about modern life

and all its folly

and skillfully omit

how much I’ve also become

an epic part of said problem

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1102676

EGGS, BLOODY MARYS & JAZZ

There was time to kill

since the next train

was at 5:38AM.

Fortunately, Manhattan

always offered options.

An all night diner

or a 4:00AM bar; 24 hour deli.

A favorite haunt back in the day

was the Jazz Cultural Theatre

on 8th Ave between 28th and 29th ST

They had a residency 

with legendary drummer Art Blakey

on Saturday night (Sunday morning:

from 3:00AM to 7:00AM

A legend for 15 bucks

and you could get drinks or breakfast

and pair it with jazz.

Eggs, Bloody Marys and Jazz

It was a blast.

A couple times

I even missed the 5:38

and had to catch the 6:38

I was young & insane

so it never phased me.

I was living on the edge

but it always seemed 

to provide its own rewards.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1071245

JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE TO DO POETRY AGAIN: Schaefer, George: 9798449725561: Amazon.com: Books