Walking inside, you know it is going to be good
a swaying drunk buxom blonde, grinning ear to ear,
a baby possum in her hand, as she slurs and shows it off,
she is walking out, cause they don't want it inside.
Inside dark shadows, pierced by neon signs,
the clack of pool ***** and the eyes of locals,
the "mayor" sits at the end of the table
greets us as we belly up.
Staggers over a beer in hand with stories on his mind
shakes our hands and regales us with memories unbidden,
of a dancing beauty in a slinky dress, playing the violin,
as he acts out the memory of a concert in his youth.
A double crown and coke, and other drinks around
waiting for the barmaid struggling with amaretto sours,
a toast to being here, and having a good time,
echoed by the locals, as the "mayor" tells us that's why we're here.
We finish our drinks, and it's time to go,
but they wish we would stay,
I shake some hands out the door,
as the jukebox plays out unknown old music.
In the parking lot, possum girl, and her husband
argue, he says it's time to go home right now,
she has other plans, we want to stay and watch
but have things to do, we wave as we drive away.