Wednesday, September 13, 2023

The Bowery, 1975 By Greg Clary

 Wet tables,

sticky floor,

quarter drafts,

cover band

playing nonstop.

 A rowdy gong on

 the cowbell 

hanging from

the ceiling

after a big tip.

And if it’s

big enough,

Sugar Bear will

hop on

stage and sing

Mustang Sally

while flashing her

kitchen table tattoo,

”Can’t Touch This”.





Greg Clary is a retired college professor who was born and raised in Turkey Creek, West Virginia. He now resides in the northwestern Pennsylvania Wilds where he enjoys cathead biscuits, an occasional 2 fingers of Jameson over one cube of ice, and people who can ease into a conversation without taking it over.

His photographs and poetry have appeared in many publications including The Sun Magazine, Looking at Appalachia, Rattle, The Watershed Journal, Appalachian Lit, Rye Whiskey Review, Waccamaw Journal, and the Hole in the Head Review.


No comments:

Post a Comment

those poems By Keith Pearson

he handed her a book of poems. she leafed through the pages and said what is this it makes no sense. he said it’s not for now it’s for later...