joe the jolly bartender

joe the jolly bartender always had a smile he was a solid sender and everybody liked his style no poor sap was so down and out and so desperately blue that joe wouldn't give him a happy shout from across the avenue when joe was working nights at tony's bar and grill it was always a pleasant sight to see him pouring those drinks with a will those innocent and good of heart and not inclined to scowl and hiss accepted joe as he played his part never suspecting something amiss * but those of more skeptical mien saw something beneath the sheen of joe's ever present bonhomie and impervious sanguinity beyond where the neon sign shone and the memories of those it shone upon did anyone really know where he went when he wasn't being joe? a suspicious fellow named tate decided to investigate tate had dreamed of being a detective but reality had been more selective and dealt him an everyday fate a job unpacking and packing crates at a well known hardware store whose sway extended from shore to shore his motive he never professed it might have been sheer orneriness but he got it into his dome that he would follow joe home the opportunity came so without second thought or shame on a desolate windswept night he kept the outward bound joe in sight it proved easy to keep on joe's track he never seemed to look back but proceeded at a steady pace with no particular style or grace the streets fell away like leaves and tate began to believe that perhaps he was wasting his time and his suspicions were not worth a dime joe suddenly was not there tate had no time to stop and stare but hastened to the spot where his last glimpse of joe he had caught a window covered with soap held a sign saying "never lose hope" this cryptic exhortation produced a curious desolation in the consciousness of poor tate to its message he could not relate but of something it seemed to remind him and then he heard a voice behind him - no one could remember when or if they ever saw tate again he became one of those, i fear whose fate it is to disappear the city with its winking face swallows souls without a trace they just go and don't come back - who can keep track? * joe the jolly bartender always has a smile he is a solid sender and everybody likes his style no poor sap is so down and out or so desperately blue that joe won't give him a happy shout from across the avenue

road poem

spiders weave, and flies escape clowns wear noses and magicians capes everything is what it shall be whales laugh in the deep black sea between the oceans the highways wait for wanderers to take the bait big wheels whispering in the rain yellow moons over the shadowed plain call them alice, samantha or flo dames will come and dames will go but a pal is a brother, you know when the road calls, you got to go down the highway and over the hills we've got our booze, we've got our pills past the factories, past the old mills stoked to the gills, looking for thrills craving adventure, desperate for love laughed at by the gods above angels and devils can play their tricks we're on a one-way quest for kicks down darkened highways smoked with dreams when nothing is really what it seems because every darkened window and door hides more secrets than can ever be explored past silent houses where dogs sleep on chairs as cats watch over them with gracious airs cinderella brings stepmother her evening tea because that is the way it will always be waves of music suddenly blast out of the hidden fellaheen past a shack on the prairie, window alight solid in the windy night bus stop annies in the shadows of the docks clodhopper clems sit beneath the clocks the bus from des moines is an hour late but it will not affect their fate silent pawn shops, all night cafes hotels that have seen better days bums clutching bottles in lionish paws because the night obeys no laws railroad bulls who once had hearts now practice moloch's murderous arts empty boxcars with flown away souls can't get no more jelly roll moctezuma and railroad bill in a souvenir shop outside boot hill wait for john henry's promised return because the world will never learn cabeza de vaca with his thumb stuck out gives a final desperate shout as william mckinley driving a tramways bus leaves him behind in a cloud of dust the final kick just out of reach end up on a deserted beach the ocean is the last motel room its whispering surf the voice of doom

pals, part 7: resolution

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though they did not exactly fly the days did in fact go by despite some pathetic half hearted resolutions to life i had no solutions and it went on as before with no crescendo or roar and try try as i might against my fate i could not fight every night jane walked through my brain again and again and again not really driving me insane i was too defeated for that so i finally put on my hat and one night made my way back to ray's i still remembered the way nothing seemed to have changed nothing had to be explained bertha was behind the bar as usual as always smiling and schmoozical henry and jane were there at me they did not stare but gave me a cursory nod as if they did not find my presence odd henry continued what he had to say as if never noticing i had been away and jane listened to him intently she had also not noticed i was gone evidently or more likely they just didn't care so i sat down in my chair then decided i really needed a drink so off to the bar i did slink i could hear them chattering away as they probably had every day with complete obliviousness to my disappearance so unmysterious o henry couldn't you see that jane meant everything to me i thought you were my friend but you brought my life to an end i returned with my drink to the table as i was perfectly able and though my brain feebly resisted it was if i had never existed we walk through life in a dream too polite to scream too disciplined and well bred until the waters close over our head the end

the missing spoon

"and so, you obstinate creature, you persist in denying your guilt?" "but i didn't take it, madam, i didn't! i swear i didn't!" mrs morthwicke did not conceal her contempt. "what say you, mister stanforth?" she asked the lean, somewhat wolf-faced gentleman standing on her left. "i am afraid it's as plain as a pikestaff, madam," he replied, with his long fingers firmly clutching the gray lapels of his frock coat. "the spoon is missing. no one else had the opportunity to take it. if there is only one possibility, it must be acknowledged, no matter how distasteful. therefore - ". he gave a rueful shrug. "do you hear that, miss?" mrs morthwicke asked the weeping maid. "mister stanforth solved the case of the jackberry diamonds. he saved the life of the queen from the mad turkish anarchist. am i to take your word, or his?" "oh, but please, madam, please," the girl cried. she looked around wildly. outside the windows tall trees could be seen waving in the wind, amid a few gusts of snow. "it's so cold out! and i didn't take the spoon, i swear!" hanson, the butler, was a bit disconcerted by the proceedings, and not from any sympathy for the maid, whom he had regarded as a sniveling, incompetent creature, with no personal charms to offset her inefficiency. it troubled him that the missing spoon had not been found, either in the girl's chambers, on her person - thoroughly searched by mrs allen, the housekeeper - or anywhere else. but in the face of mrs morthwicke's cold fury, and mr stanforth's reputation, he kept his peace. "please, madam, at least let me stay until morning! listen to the wind outside! how it howls!" "i am afraid i can not allow you in the house a moment longer. take her away, mrs allen." mrs allen stepped forward and escorted - virtually dragged - the weeping maid away, followed a few paces back by the solemn chanson. "an unpleasant business, mister stanforth," mrs morthwicke observed, when they were gone. "i thank you for your assistance." "unpleasant indeed, " mister stanforth replied. "but from my perspective, a trifle." "i see no reason to further inconvenience the other guests. shall we join them?" "if it is your pleasure." mrs morthwicke rose from her chair, and mister stanforth followed her across the long room. as he did so he passed his hand over his inner vest pocket, ever so gently caressing the outline of the small silver spoon contained in it, and the hint of a smile crossed his lips. for while it was true that mister stanforth had indeed solved the case of the jackberry diamonds (among many famous cases) and had saved the life of the queen on more than one occasion, it was also true that he enjoyed playing malicious pranks, especially on the more anonymous members of society.

seventh son

there were five customers in the bar. a sheriff with a big gut hanging over his belt, a floozie with a heart of gold, santa claus (he wasn't really santa claus, he was just dressed up as santa claus to stand beside a black kettle all day and solicit money) and two nuns who had also spent the day asking people for money. and joe the jolly bartender , who was trying to keep everybody in a good mood, in spite of the winter storm raging outside. the door opened, letting cold air and a little snow in. reed came in. "whiskey, reed?" joe asked him. "whiskey." joe poured the whiskey. "you know what i just did?" reed asked him. "no, reed, what did you just do?" "i just killed a man." "do tell?" "i do tell. i just did an honest day's work." reed looked around the bar. "which is probably more than any of you parasites can say. a man paid me to do a job and i did it." reed threw the whiskey down his throat and slapped the glass on the bar. "the son of a bitch begged for mercy. i told him to look in the dictionary under 'm'". "i think you've used that line before, reed," joe told him. joe looked over at the sheriff. "did you hear that, sheriff, reed says he just killed a man." the sheriff didn't look up. "in what county?" "hell, " reed answered, "i don't know. it was down the road. way down the road." "the county line's just across the street," the sheriff told him. reed ordered another shot of whiskey. they all fell silent. the door opened again letting in more cold air and a little snow and a seventh customer. well, you can just guess who it was.