This is another poem about him, but this is one--
I used to have to go look for him.
That was my job because I was the oldest of the five
children.
So I have to go to the tavern, and you weren't allowed in,
of course, so you had to peer through into that dark
and see if you could see him along the bar.
So going home, this time was the first time
I really had been in these hometown bars.
So I went into the Shenook Tavern,
and this is what happened.
It's called "At the Shenook Tavern."
"There's a nose mark on the glass, under the gilt-edged "No
Minors."
Today, we walked in here for a beer.
The "no" was scratched off, then penciled back.
Someone knew we'd all get old enough to be here.
My father stands at the end of the bar
drinking his beer from the bottle,
so cold when he sets it down.
The fingermarks run together.
This is my daughter, he tells the Swede.
I should know you, says Swede.
You're as pretty as my daughter.
I hope your daughter is pretty, I said.
Hello,
[LAUGHTER]
He can't shake with that arm.
A lady ran into me and didn't know it.
I'm a strong old son of a gun.
I held on to her bumper for 30 yards.
They
[LAUGHTER]
They had to take the top out of my shoulder.
This is my daughter, my father says to the barman.
Warren, he said.
His wife shakes with me, too.
Well damn!
I should know you, my father says
to someone's face walking up.
When I turn over in my sleep, it pops out.
Let's go.
The pool table cemetery green, under the high white tubes
of light, suddenly on the street, it's daylight,
and us parked somewhere we can't remember."