Long Drugstore Poems
Long Drugstore Poems. Below are the most popular long Drugstore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drugstore poems by poem length and keyword.
You can tell a cowhand by his trappings
Head to toe.
He’s not a drugstore cowboy
who tries to fool you, though.
His boots are manly footwear
and they’re pointed at the toe.
They’re made to fit a stirrup
and show the way to go.
The boot tops climb toward his knees
and turn back thorns and fangs.
Their soles are smooth and scoot on floors
where he dances as he "sangs".
He cleans them both fore he steps inside
so he won’t make a mess.
But I don’t think he takes them off
even when he’s at rest.
His jeans are straight cut at the leg
and stop atop his spurs.
His chaps protect his jeans and legs
from abuse that often occurs
when his mount maneuvers the heavy mesquite
To turn a cow around.
And if you check his pockets
a wallet won’t be found.
Instead you’ll see a circle worn
where a can of snuff is bound.
He wears a plain old leather belt
and the buckle’s just as simple.
His trophies are in a trunk, at rest.
to win them all was ample.
His long sleeve shirt is made of cotton.
He wears it no matter the season.
If you go to church on Sunday morn',
there’s a white one for that reason.
A cowboy wears a hat for a crown.
It’s a signature of his character.
And, if he ever lays it down,
it's best for you if you leave it there.
Yes, a cowhand has a certain look.
You can tell by the way he dresses.
Those drugstore boys are too flashy,
their hair in those beauty shop tresses.
They can dress like a cowhand, but still,
when you look them both in the eye
you’ll know which one is the cowhand.
Just gaze into his eyes and see why.
The Scales of Justice didn't tip my way,
I figure from the dues I've had to pay.
While thumbing down to Shaky Town
I thought I turn my luck around,
At a drugstore in Salinas on a cold September day.
The Wheel of Fortune, rolled out the door
With the owner tied and ordered to the floor.
As from the till the larger bills
I grabbed until my pockets filled,
A gunshot woke the morning on that cold September day.
My Guardian Angel flew out of town
As my body wretch’d and tumbled to the ground.
There close to death I came to rest,
A sheriff's bullet in my chest.
My ticket back to prison on that cold September Day.
Never caught a glimpse of Lady Luck.
But that ain't going to make me pass the buck.
After 3 to 10 in Folsom pen
And wondering where my life has been,
I walked out in the sunlight on a cold September day.
The Horn of Plenty wouldn’t blow my song,
But somehow through these years I’ve got along.
While never holding nothing more than
Inside straights and hotel doors,
I'll sit out while you dance with life this cold September day.
Dedicated to Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and John Prine.
The Viewing
She wore it that weekend
After he bought it at the drugstore
with eight dollars
they didn’t have.
Rent money.
Food.
It was a man’s Timex
and she wore it
in the motel.
She wore it in the waves
at the beach in Coronado.
The hands froze
and sand collected.
She wore it to the wedding.
She wore it on their honeymoon.
A night on Catalina.
Eleven-thirty eight.
She said that was when they
fell in love.
She wore it to the hospital
until the doctor talked about
stillborn and heart beats.
Then it was gone.
And she.
Now, forty-five years later
he waited until everybody
walked past her.
Nobody knew
husband number one
from long ago.
A grandchild smiled at him.
Some lawyer had found him.
Finally he got up.
He couldn’t look at her face
but saw her wrist
with the Timex watch.
The wrist underneath
that he used to kiss
leading to other things
and a baby
with no breath, blue.
He saw the hour’s hand
floating on the sand
on the dial.
Minutes still thirty-eight.
He saw her hair floating
In the wind
And the sea rushing to engulf her
And take her
For the moment.
And reappear
like now
laughing,
love really not lost
at all.
Quandary
I bought a zoo - a magic place
With extinct animals - maybe lost in space
Now in a quandary - what to do
I have an ailing Jurassic Zoo!
My Stegosaur snores with loud zings
My Pterodactyl sprained one wing
My Tyrannosaur is burping bubbles
My Brontosaur wheezes stubble
My Allosaur has the sniffles
My Triceratops has heartburn dismal
My Philoceratops has the flu
My Centrosaur snorts in blue
Can't just go to the local drugstore
For dinosaur remedies lost in lore
In a quandary - what to do
My vet won't set foot in my Jurassic Zoo
Now
My Wooly Mammoth has lost his hair
My Sabre-toothed Tiger has toothache scares
My Short Faced Bear has halitosis
My Irish Elk has spinal stenosis
My Giant Sloth hangs upside down
My Wooly Rhino fumes and frowns
My Mega Otter cannot swim
My Bear Dog grows cat teeth in him.
Think I have solved my quandary....
Buying lush woodlands with running streams
In that paradise - let them all run free
Every time I visit with warm scones and fine tea
They will come a running with greetings just for me.
10-1-21
Contest "Q"
Sponsor: Constance La France
Thank you Marikate for your inspiration!
10-8-22
Contest: Marathon Mile 16
Sponsor: Mark Toney
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
She won't need those sun hats with the ribbon tied
When people complemented, she smiled wide.
Empty those cubbyholes with elegant shoes
She won't walk with them down Fifth Avenue.
We won't need her walker any more
We can dispose of her eyedrops at the drugstore
They will take the heart pills too
And the cancer drug that let life renew
Can't reuse those cutting-edge hearing aids
All those home care bills have to be paid.
Sell the recliner that helped with her spine
Because she's passed the end of the line.
Scrap her glasses and those diapers too
All those articles she wrote, who'll read them - you?
Shred the Emblem card and her driver's ID
Who needs a mundane memory?
Don't load for her the serenade podcast that's new
Now your article editing is all up to you
The sight of the stair lift hits you in your heart
How did all this help ultimately fall apart?
Won't need the Comfort Pack with morphine
They'll come to pick it up on Friday thirteen.
No more pain for her, they say its release
They say she's with dad, and both are at peace.
I just can't wipe the slate clean
I can't dispose of a memory like I can a dream
There once was a world, and now it's gone
But an echoing sadness lingers on and on.
In my own microcosm of the world,
myriad blessings are daily unfurled.
To claim them, I don’t need my car, just my feet.
My frequent walks don’t end with my little street.
Invariably friendly neighbors I meet.
If I need a doctor, a clinic is there,
right by the drugstore. When my fridge is bare,
I walk to the quick stop for lunch, milk, and bread
or down to the café with close friends instead.
There’s so much to see before daylight has fled.
I pass by three churches, including my own;
an ice cream shop (I may drop in for a cone);
the library (I love a mystery book);
the charming boutique (Can I pass and not look?);
the park (right beside it, a train and a brook).
I walk by the school—how the memories flow!—
then the coffee shop, where they have strong joe to go,
a shop where the ladies all do hair and nails,
the houses of some whose friendship never fails,
the “junk” store with really nice things during sales.
With ability to take my walks, I am BLESSED.
They relieve and relax me when I’m feeling stressed.
I love the wide range of sounds, sights, and styles
experienced while walking not even two miles!
My heart’s always warmed by the waves and big smiles.
May 21, 2022
My Name Is Roland, Do You Want To Go Bowling
chosen to relate to Richard Lamoureaux's Poem
Best Pickup Line
Best Pick Up Line
You are so beautiful forgive me for staring
It might woo me if I thought he was sincerely caring
However, my first thought, he has used this line before
Although, flattered, I would head for the door
Hi Shirley, my name is Roland,
do you want to go bowling
Best pickup line I ever had
outside the washeteria by an Italian lad
Popping a willy, his bike on one wheel
I couldn't help but laugh, he is too funny I feel
So who told you my name
The clerk at the drugstore was to blame
Well not today, I don't think so
Maybe another day, I will let you know
Then one day I was walking home
He was sitting in his truck with silver chrome
Suddenly, he jumped in front of me offering me a ride
I loved his sense of humor, I have to confide
Only three blocks to my home
In his fancy truck with chrome
He grabbed and kissed me and I could see how this was gonna go
I laughed and pushed him away and said, “ I don't believe so.”
So no Roland, no bowling, just my favorite pickup line
A smile and laugh I can't hold back at this funny memory of mine
To make it on the stage, in this day and age,
I'm convinced, Contacts and Clout are what it's all about.
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all washed out,
went down to the local drugstore, for a bottle of Clout,
the druggist he said, 'Sorry son, we're all sold out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all turned about,
went to my family Doctor, gotta have a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'Ya gotta go cold turkey, you'll have to go without.'
There's no doubt about it, I need a bottle of Clout,
gonna shout about it, 'What d'ya think I need?
'Well, yes indeed, I need me a bottle of Clout.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' such self-doubt,
went to the nearby Grocer, said, 'Gimme a bottle of Clout.'
She said, 'I'd like to help ya boy, but now, ya just struck out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all burned out,
went to the downtown Dealer, to score a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'You're outta luck man, there's none of it about.'
Yeah, it's an affliction, wish I could lose,
it's my addiction, I got them mean ol' bottle of Clout blues.
Long, shaggy bangs and suntan oil
Attracting the rays through pieces of foil
Transistor radio playin' Beatles tunes
Soppin' the sunshine from morning 'til noon
Soft, summer grasses, the rabbit is loose
Teen Beat in one hand, the other one, juice
Beads of sweat but stubbornness wins
Starin' at summer through dark tinted lens
Time to go in and get dressed for the show
Iron my hair before time to go
Listen to Baez of the war
Yeah life in the 60's, we knew the score
Sit in the Westwood, feet on the chairs
An usher walks in - his flashlight, it glares
Go to the drugstore, buy paint for our face
The hippies are loose, they hang out every place
Get home for supper then head for a bath
Throw on some clothes and go over to Kath's
Get in the car and get ready to cruise
'Cause life in the 60's is makin' the news