Spiderhair Poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler


Rating: 3.4

sixty seconds before happy hour
four: fifty-nine
the spiderhair barkeep
asks me what i want
i put my hand up
without breaking my gaze
on the clock
the second hand slowly sweeps
away the seconds
one mississippi, two mississippi,
three mississippi, four...
the barkeep sits and waits;
lets out a loud impatient sigh
sure, Spiderhair’s probably secure in his
day job, putting away his 401K
he took this moonlighter to meet women
he can probably even afford to keep a girlfriend or two
but not i, the lowly, despised dive poet
the introspective journalist drunk
bespectacled, unshaven
who spends each meager penny on beer
and ink and napkins and paper
i can scarcely afford a dropp before the
work-bell rings, before that fat lady sings
the seconds wind down
fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine
i turn and smile.

“i’ll have your least expensive import” i declare.
i might be a broke poet, but i have my dignity.

Goldy Locks 21 June 2006

clever Jake, how you described the final moments before the drinking heur. i liked the mississippi's...one sam adams two sam adams....

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Michael Philips 12 September 2005

You have a marvelous way of combining humour with truth, and doing it in an orignal way. Bravo.

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demasiado fabuloso, Jacobo! I've been there...many, many times before. 'Dive' poet? Sounds even better than a beat poet...my kinda place to be...Well done.

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