Eighth At Eight

Edit (Second prize) 

	EIGHTH AT EIGHT A.M.
    
By ~freecee!~ on Thursday, 11/3/ 10 at 9:28am 
Whilst walking when the southern wind changes in my direction
and become nor-easters such as a festering infection
I have not a choice but to go where my worn out shoes will take me
 Until I reach far enough south for the sun to bake me 
so people inquire why I don't drive a car
and i tell them because were i to have one I'd drink after leaving a bar

Panama Pete, the owner, knows straight vodka is all i ever drink
and he knows how many I need to no longer think
since drinking at eight A.M. only gets me in trouble with ladies or the law
and please don't think that alcohol is my only flaw
so I leave old Pete with his Panama hat's brim well worn
until, more often than not, I awake on some stranger's lawn
how I got there and why I am indifferent to
and take my word for it I am different from you
you probably have loved ones who would care if you'd die
I, however, could expire and not a soul on earth would cry
no moans, no groans and no tears would be shed
for only Panama Pete will miss me when I'm dead

other people I’ve cheated try to slay me because they despise me
and no tuxedo, three piece suit nor pin-stripes can disguise me
i am what i am because of a detrimental mind
and people can discern what i am even if they're blind
So I arise from the stranger's lawn and keep on the run
Trying to outrun the rain or be done in by the sun
©2011.…Phreepoetree ~free cee!~ 
(Panama Pete is actually his name and owns or owned a seedy bar on eighth avenue and 46th Street in Manhattan. i haven't seen him in twelve years but if he’s still among the living I’m giving ten to one odds that say were i to walk into his establishment he'd pour me four and one on the house)
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

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