Tomorrow, I’ll Get It Right

Drunk in Barstow,

waiting for a waitress,

who gets off at 2:00 a.m.

 

The crap game cleaned me,

two bums on the pool table,

 snoring like a train

 

Drunk in Barstow,

third time this month,

I just never seem to learn

 

The waitress said,

“My boyfriend’s gone,

truck’s on the road to Bern”

 

Drunk in Barstow,

on borrowed time,

the repo man at hand

 

I swear tomorrow

I’ll get it right,

tonight—any way I can

 

(Barstow California: July, 1991)

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