There was a saint at the bar last night
He wore a battered shirt
And had uneven stubble
He cradled his beers
Peeling the labels off out of boredom
If you looked closely you could see the early signs of a receding hair line
And bags under his eyes
All he had said in three days
Was "beer" and "thanks"
He didn't look like a saint
And no one went home with him that night
And he ate 50 aspirin
And he wasn't at the bar the next day
Or the next
But he was a saint