Into The Inn

So I saunter into the inn
For a drink, it’s down in
My neck of the woods, but
I don’t say that, I call it,
‘The Tale End of the Ass End 
Of Brooklyn.’
But things are getting better,
They say. Things are always
‘Getting better,’ or they’re 
‘Getting worse.’ Well, at least
They’re always ‘getting,’ they’re
Not staying still.
I wonder why. It would be very 
Interesting if time did stand 
Still, on a high, of course,
Who’d want to be stuck for eternity
in a low. But anyway I saunter in.
The joint was empty.
What a waste of a good saunter!

Published in Medicinal Purposes