the qualities of a good local bar

you’re talking like you’ve got cab fare home
says jack, although he’d prefer we call him drummond
working steadily on his fourth pint his tar-stained
fingers quietly tapping on the bar drum drum drum
his daughter was steven tyler’s main squeeze
and his son went to harvard, he says. honours.
he’s got that james dean cool about him, some
kind of swagger he picked up flying twin-engine airplanes
in nearly three major wars and several wives later
he’s got the grit down to a science. let me buy you
a beer, sweetface, he says with cataract confidence
and a satisfied smile. there’s nothing sweet about it,
i reply, but i’ll drink your beer, jack, and smoke your
stories so long as you stop that tappity tap tap
and keep your hands where i can see them, jack.