Party Of Six

Churchill, Van Gogh

Ford, Hemingway

Martin, and the Queen Mum

Seated in the back room

Just like they did

Every Saturday night

A mis-mashed group

All famous in their own ways

And always drunk by sundown

Vincent liked the wine, poured heavy and red

And never stopped fussing with the spot

Where his ear should have been

Winston and the Queen sipped on expensive pink champagne

And mumbled incoherently back and forth,

To only themselves

Dean was a bitter old fuck,

Liked his martini’s extra, extra dry

Ernest drank the Majito’s by the gallon,

And chased them with swigs of Absinthe

He would bitch about how they weren’t as tasty,

As they were in good old Havana

And then there was Betty

The old broad would suck down

Airplane fuel, if you set it

In front of her

Good old girl

And every Saturday night was the same

The same stories,

The same arguments,

The same chauffeurs and coachmen

To drag their dead asses back home

Here’s to the good ones

The world is a smaller place,

Without your repetitive stories

And devilish ways

© DIcky J Loweman 2015

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