Types of Poetry

This is one of the Types of Poetry - A poem about The Red Robin; a little collage bar where I spent many a weekend ....drinking





The Red Robin


by

Richard A. McCullough




WE THREE AND THE RED ROBIN MAKES FOUR
OR
THE RED ROBIN WALTZ

Types of Poetry

Silent digestive systems

quaking over foam and ale.
Molly and Suzy too
sitting in the booth
with eyes cast
and fingers
......thumping
away the rhythm of a tune
..........humming
......................and tippling.

"Another round!"

A whiskered bar-man brings the glasses
grinning my bill
..........enfolded in his hand,
"Let's keep it down over here."
......winking
"It's getting a little rowdy over here."
and we all are laughing
casting smiles at one another.

And out-side the front door
traffic, humming, honking
following the white line
past 'The Red Robin'
and over the hinged bridge
to now where.
Types of Poetry
Our window facing onto the lake
but narrower like a river
with house boats crowding between signs
proclaiming 'Wolf Marina'
and a 'Standard' sign.

"Have some more Molly."
And now it's Muscatel I'm pouring,
through her protests
splashing amber in the late sun
bouncing droplets on the table
amber still and ridged
........and now our laughing.

"I wont drink it."

"Sure you will."

"I can't get it down",
......round brown eyes
rolling around at the window and me.

"Well, just sip it then."
Types of Poetry
"Boy are you getting ornery,"
Suzy's thick voice
smacking it's tongue and smiling.
"Maybe we ought to lock her in a closet
until her humor improves
.........boy...."

"For three days!"

And now we all are laughing
Molly curls her lips to pout
but her eyes are too giddy.

"Just you wait till I get out
BOY!!!!
You better not open that door!"

"We'll just open the door and push her back in!"

Yes, yes
....fill the glasses.

OH the burning spinning
my head's not steady.
The table nicks my knee
we're leaving.

Molly and Suzy on my elbows
rescuing me
from the floors up-rushing.
"Good night DAAAAAAAAAA------vid."
He always gets a kick out of me calling him,
'DAAAAAAA----vid'.
He hangs his palm in the air at me,

and the door bursts open into the night.

"Oooooh I can't see."
We're all laughing
our voices to fill
the space between the stars.

Across the gravel in shuffled crunching.

Asleep in the back seat
someone's coat
tucked in a passionate embrace
........my pillow.

The engine moaning into a stutter.

A spray of gravel into the street
and I'm holding on for dear, drunken, life
against the sway of leaning, vanishing streets
and white lights crashing to penetrate
....my head
.......it's awful HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
....and smothering it
......into my pillow
....nibbling at an elbow
......fondling a sleeve.

The front door yawned open to a blackness
and Molly exploded it into a whiteness.
I fell onto the couch
my arms outstretched,
"I'm in shock."
Types of Poetry
"What'd he say?"
Suzy in the kitchen.

Molly in the doorway
witch swayed hypnotically and fell on it's side
giggling.

"Oh! He fell over.
Come-on now, sit up
and be a good boy."
her lips in my ear
"There's a good fellow."

And from the kitchen
with cold, light, resonance,
"The coffee's ready, is he?"

"Com' on drink this
alllllllll--up
if you wont to be a big boy in the morning."
Types of Poetry
But he's not there.
He's gone some where
off in a far skittering dream
witch reels and spins
in slow precessions of bull-fights,
......that he's never been to,
and dames
with long silk sleeved legs
and breasts as big as cows.

"Look at hem.
He just lays there
grinning
what'll we do?"

"Pour water on his head."

"No!"

"I was just kidding.
Besides he'd probably think it was a water fall
on some south sea island.
Maybe, we'd better, just let hem sleep it off."

"Yea."

"Look at that grin
......will you
like a ten year old.
Will you look at that."

"Yea."
Types of Poetry
And the lights
went out
on an ocean voyage
upon a REAL pirate ship.

And the night was ended
with the paired clipping
......of heals
down the steps
and into the midnight traffic.


Types of Poetry
###



Write on...

Richard A. McCullough


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