KILLING the happy hour with
your spit and talk, cracking
your fingers like a boxer, then
hitting with your rusty axe,
the niceties are over,
you scream, i want out,
i want out, you heard me
, i want out, but first ill
take another drink.
KILLING the hapy hour with
your spit and talk.
Good work Mr. Gerardino! ........flavor of Bukowski.......the line...'cracking your fingers like a boxer'........then hitting with your rusty axe'. They call it happy hour but alot of people who hit the happy hour are depressed and broke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Agree with Mr. Murdock...Drinks are much cheeper & th; clientel can be a might testier as they wallow their woe in their whyskey.....Job well done, David'''''''''''''''''FJR