His Last Vignette by Mark Tulin

My father loved the smell of beer,
the salty stale pretzels,
and the pigs' feet floating in a jar

He loved the neighborhood saloon,
small-town men with fat bellies
and balding heads, telling of their salvation
while serving in the war

My father loved the freedom of the stool,
the way it turned but never spun off
He loved his two tattoos,
and his crooked jaw, broken
during the Korean War

He told of the time,
he almost married a French whore
that he paid for with a bar of soap
and a cheap pair of stockings
that he bought at the commissary

The barflies were so impressed
at how my father held his liquor,
such a hard worker
and a stand-up guy

As my father told his last vignette,
he put down his drink,
took a drag of a Lucky
and grabbed his balls
while the ceiling fan circled
his immortalized youth.

Mark Tulin is a retired therapist from Philadelphia who now lives in California. He has two poetry books, Magical Yogis and Awkward Grace. His upcoming book, The Asthmatic Kid and Other Stories available to pre-order. Mark has been featured in Amethyst Review, Strands Publishers, Fiction on the Web, Terror House Magazine, Trembling with Fear, Life In The Time, Still Point Journal, The Writing Disorder, New Readers Magazine, among others.  Mark’s website, Crow On The Wire.