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Joe Flambo Poem
I thought I saw Judy Jo just now.
There was a commotion, someone shouted out, then the sound of a fist meeting face and a thud.
She came walking out from the back where the pool table was being bled on by some hapless fool,
Her hair flowing with Medusa-like curls, gleaming with sweat in her tank top with that wiley grin of hers.
Ha! Nobody messed with Jo without her permission.
It wasn’t her though. She’s been gone for all these years.
But thank you, feisty chick in the tank top for bringing that back for me.
An old man needs those moments every once in awhile.
Copyright © Joe Flambo | Year Posted 2023
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Joe Flambo Poem
At nights we’d sit out on the balcony drinkin
Breathin
That thick mug air
Of a New Orleans summer evening.
Livin as easy
As they’d let us
In the bowels of the Irish Channel
Where magnolias bloom all year long
Amidst the cracked walks
And hungry dogs
Not quite getting enough
From the day’s trash.
Crumpled ashcans turned asunder
Over the curbing and into the street
Like it’s some kinda joke or something.
Windows open
Worn curtains flowin
Stereo blastin Stevie Wonder
Down St. Mary’s street.
And it was enough
Sittin on that ragged dustbag couch with a friend.
We felt like kings.
Drinkin and talkin about the girls of last weekend,
Discussin everything
We’d promised not to tell.
Our money almost gone,
Dissolved away last weekend
By alcohol solvent,
Fun girls, good times.
Yea, who cared if paychecks
lasted through two good days of fun.
The two fun days made up for the five hard days
Sweatin out wages.
We were drinkin Flambeaux from the bottle
And the half moon rose
Over night streets.
A Palmetto bug flies by
And into my place.
Probably to join his friends
Doin a song and dance on the counter.
A mouse crawls along the electric wire
Strung from the pole across the street
To our balcony.
For a moment
I feel that the mouse
May somehow share our feelings
Of life’s simple pleasures.
He crawls along the wire
Maybe thinkin of
Juicy tidbits left on the side of a stewpot,
Or a discarded chicken bone
Strewn behind the refrigerator,
Wash it down with a day-old can of Schlitz on its side.
I can almost see him smile
As I toss the empty bottle of Flambeaux at him.
My aim is short
And the bottle bounces off the wire
To sail down and crash
Amidst the neighbor’s trash.
And the mouse sails down too.
We hear the plop as he hits the pavement.
For a moment I feel bad
For what I have done to bottle and flesh.
But that New Orleans summer mouse
Just sorta shrugs
And starts to walk away.
Until the cat darts out
From under the landlord’s new Chrysler.
In this world, you gotta get what you can
Or die tryin.
Glass crumples under our feet
As we walk by on our way to the liquor store
For another few bottles of cheap wine.
Flambeaux, on a muffuletta night.
Carl kicks an ashcan over
And into the middle of St. Mary’s street.
And that’s worth a good laugh.
You bet.
A magnolia petal
Floats down
Through the thick mug summer air
And lands beside a scavenging dog.
Copyright © Joe Flambo | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Joe Flambo Poem
The short order cook is getting delirious at five in the morning
Beads of sweat showing under his funny hat
As he stares blankly at the eight new orders on the wheel,
And wonders when the drunks
Will all have enough and go home.
I’m one of the drunks
From a short order night
The band was hot
And the girls were swingin
But alas I finally walk out with no easy over lady.
And the waitress,
Scrambled yellow blond,
Takes my order
And adds it to the wheel.
More beads of sweat from the short order cook.
And he yells
“HERE’S YOUR ORDER STUPID”
to the scrambled yellow waitress.
“DON’T CALL ME STUPID!”
But she knows
He’ll give her
biscuits and gravy after it’s all over.
But in the meantime
It’s the drunks
On the other side of the counter
From this short order night
Eggs over easy
Pigs in a blanket
Hash browns and toast
Heartache and coffee
Yea, the short order cook plows on
And knows
That the nine orders on the wheel
Will not cook themselves.
He’s been on the other side too.
Copyright © Joe Flambo | Year Posted 2023
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