SOME SCHMUCK.A Poem by Terry CollettA MAN AND WOMAN IN A BAR ONE NIGHT.She was sitting there at the bar. Max saw her, and wandered over to her and said: can I buy you a drink? I don't know, can you? She said. He smiled, may I buy you a drink? He said. Depends what you want in return for the drink, she said. He stood next to her. She had light brown hair, blue dress and blue eyes. Just a drink, no strings, he said (although in his head was an idea of maybe her in his bed). Why would you want to buy me a drink? She said eyeing him in his brown suit and hat. Just being nice, can't a guy be nice? He said. She stared at him and said: a gin with ice would be nice. Max called the bar-keep and the bar-keep came over and stood eyeing him. What can I get you? A scotch on the rocks for me and a gin and ice for the dame, Max said. The bar-keep walked off in a slow walk. Sit down, the dame said, you are too tall to stand. Max got a stool and sat beside her. Smoke? He asked. Only if I walk too fast, she said. He smiled. Ok, would you like a cigarette? That'd be nice, she said. He took out two cigarettes from a pack and offered her one and one for himself and lit both. You new? He asked, haven't seen you around. No, not new, I've been around a few years, she said. He sighed. Are you new around here? Yes, I usually frequent a posher kind of bar, but I'm short of dough, she said. She inhaled deeply eyeing him. He looked her over. Nice legs, he mused. She had them one crossed over the other, nice blue dress, low cut. Then the bar-keep brought the drinks and Max paid him. The bar-keep wandered off to the other end of the bar. Thanks for the booze, she said. My pleasure, he said. Why your pleasure? She said, blowing out a line of smoke, I'm the one going to drink it. Max sipped his drink. I meant my pleasure to buy you a drink, he said. She looked at him deeply. You come here often? She said. Most nights, he said, you alone? No, she said I'm with you. He smiled, is anyone apart from me here with you tonight? He said. Look Max, she said, I'm your wife for Christ's-sake, can we not play this fool game every night? Max shrugged his broad shoulders. Ok, Honey, just makes the night go with a kick, and gives me a thrill that I can pull a dame still. She shook her head, wished she was with some other schmuck instead. © 2016 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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