Photo by Dave Lloyd Whisky bottles reach the ceiling,
the barmaid's climbing a ladder,
eyes upward but not praying,
her legs get fingers twitching
and 'Binghamton's' on something
he says it's all happening here
lives in the next town nothing doing,
the band play the Blues again
announce their retirement mid-song
but 'Binghamton' can't sit down
he's dancing in his chair,
he's banging his head on the shelf,
he's outside with the smokers,
his eyes are popping out
and 'Binghamton's' finding out
the girl from the pasta restaurant
gyrates like a charming snake,
as he tells his own to keep down
for fear he'll catch the venom
and 'Binghamton's' here then gone
the buses have long since left,
the girl from Eastside's struggling home,
he's hustling and dealing on the sidewalk
his hands are pigeons pouncing.
RSS Feed