A Barkeeper's Coarse Complaint Poem by Alfred Lichtenstein

It's enough to make me throw the chair through the panes of the
mirror Into the street--
There I sit with raised eyebrows:
All bars are full,
My bar is empty--isn't that terrific...
Isn't that strange... isn't that enough to make you puke,,,
The damned jerks--the miserable phonies--
Everyone goes right by me...
Bloody mess...
Here I am burning gas and electricity--
May God and the devil damn me to hell:
Damn It all... why is my bar the only empty one...
Grumpy, reproachful waiters standing around--
It is my fault--
Not one damned person comes to the door--
Cramped in a corner I sit with a hopeful face.
No customers come.--
The food rots, the wine and bread.
I might as well shut the joint.
And cry myself to death.