ain’t written shit

everything, he said, has its way of turning, mr. williams.

how so? I said.

he poured me a drink and
I paid the $5.

you come in here, you see these women, you sit down, you order
and then, he said. and then you leave.

I asked for another drink and he
filled me up. I was on my 3rd
tonight.

for someone that writes a lot, you sure don’t write a lot
when you’re in here, kid. how old are you? 24? 28? he said.

21, I said.

you ain’t written shit then, he said. live a life first.

I swallowed the drink down;
bartender was a 48 old man, divorced twice,
two daughters
and one son; first daughter is pregnant
and only son
hates him for leaving his mother,
second wife.

as i drank my 4th drink,
i had nothing else to say
but agree.

hell, he could pass as one of
these poets these days.