Seated on the bar stool
Our Customer Jack
In one hand Theakstons bitter
The other a cigarette pack
Sporting a wiry moustache
Which curls around his face
He will speak to anybody
Or may stare off into space
He fills us with his problems
Almost every day
Everything he confides
Is sad in every way
The melody of Patsy Cline
Echoes through the room
Tears appear in his eyes
Always at this tune
Eight pints of bitter later
And a whisky always neat
His face has flushed a shade of red
And he’s quivering in his seat
Wearing his grey mac
It’s never off his back
The bar will lose its character
Without our customer Jack
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like a poem with a comprehensible and interesting story and rhyming. you did it right! (not that there aren't other acceptable ways!) and the rhythm works just fine for me as well. jack not only adds character to the bar. he IS a character. thanks for sharing.