At the Dog and Badger Tavern

She took a seat at my table
As I sat, glass in hand;
Gesturing strangely,
She spoke of "that man"
Who sat at the bar,
Enjoying his drink,
Wearing a ring, looking tired:
A family man, I think.

I set down my glass
And looked up at this lady:

A fair woman, a bit portly,
As her finger, bare,
Pointed (poignantly) at the
Kind-eyed old man over there
As he sat at the bar
And struck up conversation
With the attentive barkeep
About his Generation.

She spoke quietly now,
And I started to listen
As the sweat on her brow
Dripped down and she glistened:

"Look at that man there,"
She said,
"Will he ever stop drinking?
I swear he's sat there three hours
Just pouring it down!
Doesn't he know he has
No right
To pollute his body
In such a way?"

I continued to listen,
He spoke of the War and his kids
As she declared he had no right,
And I wondered who did.
He spoke of how they'd grown up,
And how it went by so fast,
And how their kids had come back
To mourn his wife, long since passed.
But then he looked up at the bar man
And a smile crossed his face
As he declared he was glad,
His wife was in a Better Place.

She emptied her lungs
As she spoke of "that sinner,"
And I coughed at the stale air
That had newly grown thinner.

"And what of you, young man?
You're hardly the better,"

She said,
Glancing at my bottle,
Her plus-sign necklace
Bouncing upon her breast
As she breathed in (loudly and heavily)
And the smoke filled her chest:

"I've yet to see your glass empty
And you've been here all night,
You ought to own stock in Budweiser
As much poison as you've sucked down your throat."

"First of all ma'am,"
I said,
"I'm drinking Coors,
And second,"
I added,
"What business is it
Of yours?"