Sitting in a little bar in lower Manhattan
Nursing a gin and tonic
And rearranging world events in my mind.
The man comes in, obviously down on his luck,
Takes the next stool,
And orders a double shot of bourbon.
He downs the shot, throws a few crumpled bills on the bar,
Turns to me, a tear in his eye,
And says in a voice as sad as the gates of Perdition.
“I never sang my song.”
From “A Mixed Bag” by Rick Fontes, available at Amazon and other fine booksellers.