Dave's Mental Meanderings
Poem - "Insatiable Sorrow"
As I wearily walk down the cold city streets
And surrender myself to the breeze,
My boots seem to talk as they hit the sidewalk
That’s scattered with slow-dancing leaves.
I gaze at the sky like a big hollow pearl
And I stare at the sad empty stores,
The daylight still lingers and the rock ‘n’ roll singers
Are working their day jobs as whores.
The heat wave ended when autumn descended,
It’s a perfect dusk for a walk,
But the beaten-up bricks and the whispering wind
Just aren’t in the mood to talk.
I come to a tavern with twin oaken doors
That open to the calm street corner,
I can smell the beer and I know that right here
Burns the fire by which I’ll grow warmer.
The chipping paint on the white window panes
Is perfect for this part of town,
The fire escape, like her neck at the nape,
Wears a jacket of dark rusty brown.
My hard calloused hand with the heaviest heave
That my unwilling arm will allow,
It opens the door and I ponder no more
The dull wasted day for now.
I glance down the bar and seek out a seat
Right next to the jukebox machine,
Dean Martin gives life to what’s better off dead,
Not a sober soul on the scene.
The bartender sees me and makes his way down
And I ask if he’s seen her come in,
“No sign of her, sir, but she’ll make it I’m sure”
“Well in that case, pour me a gin.”
Just like the old saying, I know that I’m playing
The hardest part of the game,
The waiting goes slow and I know she won’t show,
And I’ll leave with my head hung in shame.
I sigh at the sight of myself in this state
And wonder what the bartender thinks,
He knows it right now but he’ll never announce it
Until I’ve had a few drinks.
But he can’t understand this bittersweet brand
Of soulful insatiable sorrow,
She’s miles away and I’m drinking today
Because I won’t see her tomorrow.
But before what I’m drinking can drown out my thinking,
I throw a quick glance behind me,
The patrons are playing that god-awful game
Of which this place always reminds me.
They’re stoning to death the last dying breath
Of the first of the furies to fall,
They’re abusing their power and I see that this hour
Just isn’t so happy at all.
This mirrors too closely a life I once lived
When I’d readily run from the answers,
Before I toast with the easy-way-outers
I’ll ride with the grim second-chancers.
So I light up a smoke and head for the door
After laying a five on the bar,
I can get where I’m going as long as I’m knowing
To follow that southern star.