ramblings and things
1,304,237 poems read
American Zone. West Berlin 1963
A pleasant Saturday's drinking
in a bar without a name,
after enough beer and schnapps
they look and sound the same,
was drawing quietly and pleasantly
to it's predictable end
when this Texan asked “where you from”
of my Canadian friend
then “hell no, they're all French”
brought a barbed retort back
“You can't be a yank ol' pal
I heard that they're all black”.
They wouldn't let us join in
'cos we were only Brits
as they took that little bar
to its composite bits;
when the snowdrops and redcaps
came to spoil the fun
we all left together
all friends on the run.
Glassby told me this tale
andI never knew him to lie
though his six foot fences
could be two miles high.
in a bar without a name,
after enough beer and schnapps
they look and sound the same,
was drawing quietly and pleasantly
to it's predictable end
when this Texan asked “where you from”
of my Canadian friend
then “hell no, they're all French”
brought a barbed retort back
“You can't be a yank ol' pal
I heard that they're all black”.
They wouldn't let us join in
'cos we were only Brits
as they took that little bar
to its composite bits;
when the snowdrops and redcaps
came to spoil the fun
we all left together
all friends on the run.
Glassby told me this tale
andI never knew him to lie
though his six foot fences
could be two miles high.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
American Zone. West Berlin 1963
American Zone. West Berlin 1963