Bacchanalian Rhapsody

Wow, time flies. I cannot believe it's been almost two months since I posted. A friend just called me on it and said "Farmhouse" was getting stale. So, I thought I would post something even more stale, or is that staler?

Here's a poem I wrote in January, 1992, almost 16 years ago . . .

BACCHANALIAN RHAPSODY

Bent over kicked to the ground
swimming in my sorrow
could be dead tomorrow
locked in my room
can't hear a sound
bell is dingin' for another round
where's my hope?
what's my glory?
just another nine to five story
got up late, went to work
hit the bottle, went berserk
got arrested cop's a jerk
joined AA still stuck in the dirt
sober now one more day somehow
still feel the pain
standing in the rain
waiting on a woman who never came
called her up, phone just rang
hopped in my car
tracked her down
asked her why she don't come around
said she don't need me
gots two more at home
one looks just like me
but don't drink alone
I could care less
so I hopped on a train
ordered up some Jack, drank away the pain
spent all my money, fell off the train
back in the dirt
lost my self-worth
scream to the world:
"Ain't I a jerk!"

--Shenandoah Lynd