Image Source: Wikimedia Commons
Flat-out Flustered Philanderer
Long ago, singing days, swinging and swaying to standards
Regulars down with the drill: no dating Amy
This old guy approaches, asking for “anything Gershwin”
His ancient, rheumy eyes focus on my rack like radar
Customers see the sad, familiar scenario
And if they could they’d counsel him to cool it
He’s nearer; breath reeks of bourbon and Bel-Airs
Tells me he’d love to lavish me with luncheon
My friend snickers: Here comes the hard-ass handslap
Old codger grins at thoughts of snowing on my green young grass
“Just ’cause I go crazy getting on my Gershwin
doesn’t mean I canoodle and cavort with his contemporaries.”
With that, he toddles off, tipping me a ten.
Poor old guy, chasing the chastising chick.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Trying my hand at dverse’s call for accentual alliteration. It’s complicated stuff, and I’m not sure I have all the rules down, but it was a fun write, and my BFF John will tell you, the story is absolutely true! Also “on the sidelines” at my two poetic piano bars, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United.