American Legion

There’s an old veneer of smoky tar on the
institutional tables and chairs and the
awful country music puts a
touch of humor in the air and the
brimming ashtrays far outnumber the
plates of chicken and dollar beers and a
grandmotherly smile tells you there’s nothing to fear

Tell me another story about the good old days
Aging democrats are playing slots, and how they stayed up
‘til four a.m. drinking schnapps and making ugly toasts
to pictures of old dead venerated american legionnaires

St. Paddy’s day at the legion hall and the
graying green streamers fly from
cold, bare, glaring fluorescent
bulbs that hurt your eyes and the
pitted plaster ceiling seems
infinitely more kind than the
scowls of disaffected vets who
never got a chance to die

Everybody’s been coming here every
saturday night since 1959
the music’s always the same, it
ends at twelve and starts at 9 and the
menu never changes, it’s broasted
chicken, and really, that’s just fine
any significant change like that in
our routine would ruin everyone’s good time

© David Stoddard 1998