An Odd Eventide

Last night, after dinner, I feel asleep watching a Chicago Cubs spring training night game. Probably eight-thirty or thereabouts. Nothing shuts down a Saturday to do list like awakening at one thirty A.M. on said Saturday.

So what’s a wide-awake old man to do. Semi-finish a bad beat, or as us sophisticates call it…tweak a tone poem. Check! Then tweak the website a bit. Check!
Then verselet something you’ll be sure to regret, but what the heck, it’s three a.m. Workin’ on it.

But I’m distracted a bit by the coming mayoral election here in the Windy. All ready running push polls, they are. Why am I surprised.
Because I’m an old man now. Hell, as a kid, working political campaigns kept me in new kicks, and Saturday night money.

‘bout that promised verselet…I’m lazy…so here’s a rerun from right after the general election of 2016

That Whiskey In A Coffee Can’t Cure

there is nothing wrong with four a.m. that whiskey in a coffee can’t cure…you demure? Not your kind of thirsty…?…and too old fashioned blue in that shopworn hue, through the non-filtered Lucky Strikes and a raked back and black Fedora…but it may be best to read the early wires a bit buzzed… as those busy bees who now run the bureaucracies ain’t about honey drippin,’

…Darlin’

as the power intoxicates, and you’d best believe their going to belt it. And then- when?
that bottom of the barrel hangover begins… to spank us… all, y’all…I hope to be somehow inoculated, having articulated… some needed elbow bending room early… as there is nothing wrong with four a.m. that whiskey in (a) coffee can’t cure

——————

(a little doggerel for democracy, folks)

here’s that latest bad beat.