(With apologies to John Keats)
Much have I guzzl'd of Mezcal Gold,
And many goodly beers and spirits seen;
Round many spit-and-sawdust dives have I been
Which barflys in fealty to Jack Daniel hold.
Oft of one cocktail bar had I been told
That short-statur'd Cruise ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never drink its Bailey's Cream
Till I heard the Last Barman Poet speak out slurred and bold:
Then I felt like some eater of the pies
When he's had a pint or ten;
Or like Charles Bukowski when with blood-shot eyes
He star'd at the paper - and took up his pen
And look'd at his life through a glass of Rye -
Silent, at a table in some drinking den.
- Russell J Turner