A Barkeeper's Coarse Complaint

A poem by Alfred Lichtenstein

It's enough to make me throw the chair through the panes of the
mirror Into the street -
There I sit with raised eyebrows:
All bars are full,
My bar is empty - isn't that terrific...
Isn't that strange... isn't that enough to make you puke,,,
The damned jerks - the miserable phonies -
Everyone goes right by me...
Bloody mess...
Here I am burning gas and electricity -
May God and the devil damn me to hell:
Damn It all... why is my bar the only empty one...
Grumpy, reproachful waiters standing around -
It is my fault -
Not one damned person comes to the door -
Cramped in a corner I sit with a hopeful face.
No customers come. -
The food rots, the wine and bread.
I might as well shut the joint.
And cry myself to death.

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