I was perched on a barstool, closing time near
An old coot sat down and ordered a beer.
Rumpled and wrinkled, he asked what was new.
I said nuthin.’ How about you?
He spoke of divorce; he was out on his ear,
been sleeping in his car for over a year.
He lamented he had screwed up his life
Lost his home, his friends, his wife.
I had it all when I was young and lookin’ fine,
But now I’m down & out, friends are hard to find.
Only three things count when times ain’t rosey:
Cold beer, pussy, and a can of anchovies.
Cold beer tastes good when I’m feeling blue
It’s cheap and helps me forget Betty Lou.
He swallowed his last and looked up to see
if he could get his next beer on me.
My new friend took another big swig,
said there’s something better he digs.
Beer is great, make no mistake,
But nuthin’ beats a folded pancake.
So much truth, I can scarcely take it in.
You say it so eloquently, where have you been?
I understand your beer and pussy crusade,
But why do anchovies get your accolades?
He stroked his chin and cogitated my question,
then dove into what was his real obsession.
He said those little fishes got loads of vitamin E,
Omega fatty acids, protein, and three kinds of B.
Cholesterol — They lower the bad and raise the good,
build strong bones and innards, that’s understood.
With the wisdom of Gandhi, he spouted out more:
Eat ‘em on a Caesar or if they drop to the floor.
Gnash their little bones, let them slide on down.
Hairy, salty critters — beats all I have found.
Your friends won’t like ‘em, but who gives a shit.
Put ‘em on a pizza and you won’t have to split.
I went home after buying eight more rounds.
Collapsed on my bed as the ceiling spun round.
That night I dreamed warm and cozy
Of cold beer, pussy, and anchovies.