Bar Stool Bed Sore Ode To the Record Machine

Bar Stool Bed Sore Ode to the Record Machine Smoking Winstons At the Seaway Lounge At 2:00 a.m. The juke-box sighs out Buck Stovell, Roy Crestline and an occasional Darla Parsell, Whoever she is Buxom barmaids who are 53 years old Wear nineteen year-old gold stretch pants Bleached blond earlobes Wrinkled double chins Kissing Genuine Cherokee Indian jewelry An old gray side-burned man asleep In the corner Beside the cigarette machine Middle aged women looking very divorced At the bar, two stools away From the pretzel can I sip on warm Blue Ribbon That looses it color in the dirty glass “Oh … lonesome me” Juke-box oozing out tunes As my jaw oozes out of socket and Into my callus factory hands Dirty finger-nailed Sex-starved wrists Palms ready to … Put another quarter in the box Nashville’s monument to love In a shaggy bar, in Lawrence, Indiana