A Celluloid Cabaret.


There I was,

a celluloid cabaret, looking

as rough as following a night

celebrating an election win for Bill

in a bar full of dead winded strangers,

and not a dime passing my way

throughout, all toasting

this guest of wit and sarcasm,

piss drunk and fancy free,

my observations on Bush V Clinton

skewed by admiring Bill

and thinking he represented real change

here in this bar, tapped out, exhausted

by an early morning Greyhound race

from New York to Niagara Falls,

and the beers consumed as my hair

fell over itself to be taken seriously

in this last reserve and reservoir

of once broken dreams

now fidgeting for excitement as the dawn

blows in across a wild and stormy

Atlantic, the outsider

makes his way across the bridge

to this new blazing November sunrise

and still drunk but out of sparkling conversation

gently sits on the nearest seat,

cold water added to flowing spirit, single shot

and falls asleep content with eyes opened.


Ian D. Hall 2017