Musings by The Poet Loriet
To Bit
This is just a little "To Bit" poem
in honor of Bit, a waifish lil cutie
with a shaved blonde head, a glittery
pierced nose, and a wit that's
much bigger than little Bit.
She tends bar at The Whistle Stop,
where my boyfriend watched over
my song choices on the jukebox,
whispered, "You could get shot
for playing Madonna here, baby."
It was a rough Friday night crowd,
but five foot tall Bit handled them
with a sailor's tongue and sass.
We went there to play some pool,
hang out, laugh a little Bit.
Bit babysat the place in her
hip-hugger jeans that showed
the edge of her tattoo peeking
from under her powder pink tee.
I found myself fascinated with
watching her, listening to
her quick comebacks and
sarcastic jokes.
As little as she was, I think
she could hold her own
in a dark alley.
She calls everyone "darling"-
what's your girlfriend's name, darling?
where are you pierced at, darling?
thank you so much, darling.
If this is y'alls first date,
better leave your teeth in
tonight, darlin'...
to which we howled
with laughter.
I could go back to
The Whistle Stop
just to watch her
work the room.
She's the type of girl
one finds themselves
staring at...wanting
to be around, to watch.
As my boyfriend put it,
"If I were a big-time
sales manager of well-
anything, I'd hire Bit.
I think she could sell ice
to an Eskimo", and
I'd have to agree.
She's a witty lil Bit,
and she makes me laugh.
You can find her down
at The Whistle Stop,
a little bit sassy
and a little bit sweet,
serving up drinks
to the neighborhood
rough boys, who are
real people too-
and Bit demands
their respect and
makes them act like
gentleman with threats
of calling Bubba if
they don't tip her well-
and you don't want me
to do that, do you,
daaarrrrllliiinnggg?
Of course they don't.
Nobody wants to be
the man who got Bit.
So, their wallets open
and they tip her well
and leave with a smile.
Lori Beal
in honor of Bit, a waifish lil cutie
with a shaved blonde head, a glittery
pierced nose, and a wit that's
much bigger than little Bit.
She tends bar at The Whistle Stop,
where my boyfriend watched over
my song choices on the jukebox,
whispered, "You could get shot
for playing Madonna here, baby."
It was a rough Friday night crowd,
but five foot tall Bit handled them
with a sailor's tongue and sass.
We went there to play some pool,
hang out, laugh a little Bit.
Bit babysat the place in her
hip-hugger jeans that showed
the edge of her tattoo peeking
from under her powder pink tee.
I found myself fascinated with
watching her, listening to
her quick comebacks and
sarcastic jokes.
As little as she was, I think
she could hold her own
in a dark alley.
She calls everyone "darling"-
what's your girlfriend's name, darling?
where are you pierced at, darling?
thank you so much, darling.
If this is y'alls first date,
better leave your teeth in
tonight, darlin'...
to which we howled
with laughter.
I could go back to
The Whistle Stop
just to watch her
work the room.
She's the type of girl
one finds themselves
staring at...wanting
to be around, to watch.
As my boyfriend put it,
"If I were a big-time
sales manager of well-
anything, I'd hire Bit.
I think she could sell ice
to an Eskimo", and
I'd have to agree.
She's a witty lil Bit,
and she makes me laugh.
You can find her down
at The Whistle Stop,
a little bit sassy
and a little bit sweet,
serving up drinks
to the neighborhood
rough boys, who are
real people too-
and Bit demands
their respect and
makes them act like
gentleman with threats
of calling Bubba if
they don't tip her well-
and you don't want me
to do that, do you,
daaarrrrllliiinnggg?
Of course they don't.
Nobody wants to be
the man who got Bit.
So, their wallets open
and they tip her well
and leave with a smile.
Lori Beal
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
To Bit
To Bit
