UNDETERRED

I could whine

about Ginsberg

or Rupi Kaur

or the general state

of the universe

and it would be

hollow complaint

falling on deaf ears

waiting to dismiss me

waiting to tell me

I’m nothing compared

to Corso or Dunbar

or Dickenson

or any other poet

my run on sentences

paraded publicly

as profound verse

fooling next to no one

but I continue

undeterred

with minimal complaint

I live and let live

They do their thing

and I do mine

I’ll likely be content

when I meet my maker

imperfect, ever brutish

I followed my own muse

Undeterred by critics

I dug into the vortex

entirely at my own pace

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1121280

OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD OF A BUKOWSKI WANNABE

Having a chat

with someone about getting old

I hear him declaring

“I don’t like hangovers anymore.”

And the thought triggered,

“Did you ever really like them?”

It just seemed like

such an odd comment to me

I simply have to ask

so I query,

:Did you ever really like them

at any point in time?”

and I watched him

and listened to him

stumbling over his own words

hopefully coming to realize

the absurdity of his statement

I just laugh it off

The bartender persuades me

to get a full liter pour

for last call

I guess, like it or not,

it’s going to happen

from time to time

just an occupational hazard

of a Bukowski wannabe

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1107668

OLD FOGEYS

This song never gets old

But your conversation does.

“This song never gets old.”

I hear you telling the person 

on your other side.

We’re listening to “Can’t You See”

and an old fogey

has to ruin it

with the standard old fogey complaint:

“This song is a classic.

Everything new sucks.  

It’s all forgettable.”

I can remember a day
when even older fogeys

were making the same rip

on his favorite tunes.

I remember when Tom Petty

was a pedestrian rocker.

I remember when the Clash

and the Talking Heads were

called disposable by fogeys.

You are right about one thing.

This song may never get old

but you damn sure have.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1063766

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