The Old Peqular

For many years my favorite pub

 

THE OLD PEQULAR

It was a refuge for all peculiar creatures 

On both sides of the bar.

Come Sunday morning

We sat huddled over pints

Praying resurrection.

The level in each glass

Hinted prognosis of surviving

The dark night’s debaucheries.

Elbows side by side upon the bar,

We kept our backs turned to

The Bif and Buffy day trippers

Who sometimes came and went.

Uma hissed a Gaelic warning if

A black walked on in.

Sweet Dorothy, rather round,

With dirty, dangling hair,

Two teeth missing 

From her loopy smile,

She became Sunday saint,

Unlocked the door,

Led inside our little caravan of

Shattered sidewalk souls 

In need of drink.

Dorothy, always good for a laugh,

Always good for a pint on the house

When she read you were

Hurting more than usual.

She ministered well with beer and laughter,

Trod to and fro her floorboard altar

Handing out communion and comfort to

Trembling hands and hangdog faces.

Dorothy knew I sometimes needed more,

Knew when I was sinking fast. 

That first pint’s an extra ten she’d say,

Then she’d lean over the bar, 

Whisper in my ear,

“Time for your confessions son,”

Palm flat she’d slide me a dime of whites.

Two hits, drain the glass.

This was holy, holy time. 

Saint Teresa on the juke

Joan singin’  “When I make my money

Got to get my dime.

Just what I’ve been needin,’  feel it

Rise in me.

She say Every stone a story, like a rosary.”

Wired and fired for righteous conversation,

I made my rounds.  I offered Diana,

But she doesn’t use and was happily conversing with her neighbor.

I went to the last stool, home away from home for Ken 

Who lived in a cardboard box. 

Dorothy had given him a clean shirt; 

He had cleaned off blood in the loo. 

The manager let him do little odd jobs 

For which he could claim his own barstool

Far at the end, receive a free lunch and modest drink.  

I slipped him two tabs, He hugged me then chewed them dry.

I always had trouble getting Ken to talk. 

I was right, the speed loosens lips.  

He had experienced a really bad night;

Two men with bats had split his lip, 

Cut his scalp, beat his arms and legs,

All for a half empty bottle of Thunderbird

And three dollars in his jeans.

Looking at the little bruises over veins, the old scars, 

A couple wounds festering, plus the big new bruises 

Up and down his body,

I left him with two twenties 

And a prayer this night alone 

Beloved Lord, tonight let Ken find peace

In the chemical of his choice.

I returned to Diana, still absorbed in talk

With her neighbor.

A pretty young woman 

Sat down on my right;

Her boyfriend was outside talking

Bikes with the boys.

She launched right into a movie review.

Asked had I seen it? Alas I had not,

But we were soon naming favorite directors,

Their best movies, our favorite genres,

 All  time favorite movies, challenging one another 

With obscure films, then favorite foreign films,

On and on and on, get it.

Two cats with speed singing in their veins,

Spending an entire afternoon groovin’ on movies.

Things could only get better.  

The bar had hosted a costume party the prior night; 

Upon closing Dorothy collected a box full of odds and ends.  

That Sunday morning

One had to wear at least one piece of costume

Or one would not be served,

I wore a hat with tall canine ears protruding and a collar 

Round my neck.

The hearty partying it seems had caught up with Dorothy;

 She was completely out of badly needed feminine hygiene products.

We had a Sunday regular 

Named Harold, a shy kid,  

He worked in some office job, 

Insurance maybe, doesn’t really matter.  

He was extremely introverted. 

Harold was wearing a pair of bib overalls.

Dorothy approached, all smiles missing teeth and all, 

And she began sweet talking poor Harold.

Harold I need you to do me a big favor!

It’s my time of the month, cramps, bleeding,

And I’m out of products.

There’s a 7-11 two blocks away.

I’ve written down what I need;

 Would  you go get them for me?

You will? Oh that’s wonderful.

There’s just a few rules.

You were born mute.

I have pinned a note to your bib

Explaining you are very low IQ, 

And that you cannot speak.

I also pinned on your bib the description of 

The two products I need.

Finally turn around, 

I am gluing this fluffy bunny tail to

Your pants butt.

Next put on these long bunny ears,

It just slips over the head.

Perfect!

How a bout a big round of applause

For the little bunny.

We gave him a huge send off

While he learned the final rule:

He had to be back in 15 minutes

With the correct products, still

Wearing the required costume pieces,

Or he would be banned for a week.

He returned successfully to great applause, 

Hugs, free beer, 

As well as finding he rather liked his new persona!

So soon

Twilight was upon us.  

It was time for Moonlight Mile

And a head full of snow.

I put it on the juke,

Found Diana ready to depart;

We said our Goodbyes.

We left considerably less peculiar.

Reviews

[Desert Knave]

Some great story-telling. I've not had a favorite pub in a very long time. ~Jim

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thanks Jim. We hung out in this pub in the 80’s and 90’s, so it’s been a long time for me too.

[Thomas W Case]

Tremendous work. You brought this scene to life.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you Thomas, I don’t know if you saw my comments to Vol, but the events are true although they did not all take place in a single day. It really was quite a unique pub back in the day.

[Red Brick Keshner]

I always have that peculiar hankering for watering holes but many have since lost their moisture. Dust motes are not particularly inviting but a well worn establishment, well run, brings so much to its patrons! 🙏🏻🕊

[Vol]

Michael,
Now that's a fine novel, sir! Better written than most I tried on over the last few years. And it is always a treat to find a poet who has a defined voice and knows how to use it. Plain talking, active voice, memorable characters... Eat you heart out Joseph Conrad!
I am wildly happy to me a plain spoken man,
I live out here in the Texas panhandle, middle of nowhere, have to travel 35 miles to spend money. Sounds like you are somewhere in Great Briton, Scotland? Ireland?
Vol

[Michael Sun Bear]

Hello Vol, I appreciate the praise, but I would not own up to writing a novel. I wrote of true events that took place over 30 years ago. I did condense events from different days down into one. Also, not being blessed with a photographic memory, I may have sharpened my pencil a bit in attempting to recall dialogue. I am really curious as to why you think me Irish or a Brit. Is it because of the description of the bar? I live in Edmonds, just north of Seattle. Do you know Seattle at all? We have a strong Scandinavian heritage, and the Seattle neighborhood of Ballard was originally almost exclusively so, and up until the turn of the century that heritage was very evident. The Old Peqular was very oddly an Irish pub in the heart of Ballard. It was no faux touristy Irish pub, it was owned and staffed by Irish, the place was both big hearted and exclusionary racist at the same time. My first draft here in the Cafe used the word n****r as used by certain bartenders, then I thought I better not, even if truthful. I accepted your Friends request earlier this evening; I look forward to knowing you better.

[Vol]

Okay! Historical narrative? Either way, it's worthy work you've got here.