A social site for poets in Sydney.
Poor sad sod sat in the corner,
singing blues songs, unheard by
the munching, chattering hopefuls
- with companions of opportunity -
everybody planning to get laid.
‘I get those blues when it rains,’
‘on the outskirts of every town,’
‘when my woman leaves me blue -
I’ll reach for a rich white line
three easy chords, and a trigger.’
A poor sad sod sat in the corner,
singing blues songs, heard only
by a few late, sated sycophants
singing along to littered tables,
angling for a discount on a CD.
Cheap wine, bottle now empty -
- sing 'San Francisco Bay blues'.
Another free coffee, cold and bitter -
- sing 'me I aint got nothing to lose'.
Time to go, sing, 'goodnight blues'.
Poor sad sod, sat in the corner,
lost in thought at evening's end,
putting away lasagne and chips,
a scant reward for teasing tinnitus,
and a plastic, half-full, cup of tips.
End Note: This is dedicated to all all who have played as others dine because ‘what the hell’ a gig is a gig and even if it pays a pittance it comes with a meal. Just think of it as practice in a noisy room.
At the blue lizard café © Dermott Ryder
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