Poem Man

It's twelve o'clock on a Friday,
the regular crowd stumbles in,
there's a gay man sitting next to me,
making love to his friend that is thin.
Son can you write me a classic,
don't really care if it's paper or plastic.
It's hard and it's heavy and I used to know it,
back in the day when I wore clothes.
Write us a poem, you're the poem man,
write us a poem tonight,
we're all in the mood for a classic,
and you're **** makes us feel just right.
Bill at the bar is an old friend,
he gets me my smokes for free,
he knows all the jokes,
and lights everyone's smokes,
but there's another place he'd rather be.
Allen, I believe this is killing me,
as his grin turns into a frown,
he'd rather work for the circus,
if only he could just be a clown.
The waitress is practicing rolling,
as the actors slowly get high,
they share a joint they call happiness,
and it's better than saying goodbye.
Frank is an upcoming novelist,
never had time for a man,
talking to Barney,
who's still in the army,
but gives it up whenever he can.
It's a decent crowd for a Friday,
as the owner gives me a wink,
he knows it's me,
they've been coming to see,
cause smoking is better than a drink.
My pen it writes like a symphony,
and my paper smells like a joint,
they sit at my bar,
and throw buds in my jar,
and say, man just get to the point.
Write us a poem, you're the poem man,
write us a poem tonight,
we're all in the mood for a classic,
and you're **** makes us all feel just right.