the old poet

i never saw him

without a girlfriend, a new

one,

or an old one.

he didn't work.

he went to the race track

every day.

he smoked and drank.

cursed.

he was average looking

at best,

and yet on his arm was

some new blonde

or brunette,

some harlot with long legs.

most of them, he never

knew their name.

but they loved him.

he had something going on.

something

that they liked.

the poetry perhaps, it's

what got me into the game.