The Club

Down the stairs to the dive
the pit
the bar
The Club
Cool and dark like a cave
Smell of beer and smoke
like dad
The men turn in their stools
and cheer with their brogues
"Ah, a round for Billy!"

Me and my sister play pretend
and War
and pool

I sing a rebel song
and collect quarters from men
who pinch my cheeks

We are seven and eight
we can pour a perfect pint

As the sun goes down
The Club fills up

The men are three deep at the bar
and we dodge lit cigarettes
as we push through the men,
playing tag
and hide and seek
until next week
when we come back to the bar,
the dive
the pit
The Club

(c) Maureen Barton (aka: maurinsky)

(Obviously, I know this poet, too.)


The Minstrel Boy said...


i've been to that club!

then i learned to play some lead guitar
i was underage in this funky bar
and i stepped outside
and smoked myself a jay
when i come back to the room
everybody just seemed to move
and i turned my amp up loud
and began to play
and it was late in the evening
and i blew. that. room. away.

rhymin' simon

Brave Sir Robin said...

It certainly evokes the mood!!

I can smell the beer, and see the smoke haze, and hear the murmur of voices.

Did your dad own this bar?

I love it.

Thank you for sharing it.

Bee said...

Is this autobiographical? Were you the seven or the eight year old?

Have you ever read a book called The Tender Bar?

maurinsky said...

brave sir robin: This is about my dad's club, the Irish-American Home, where I spent every Sunday of my childhood from about age 3 to about age 15. And thank you!

bee: yes, this is autobiographical, and I was the seven year old. I've never read the book, but I'll look for it.

Brave Sir Robin said...

I can vouch for the Tender Bar. You'll like it.

Bee said...

Just checking in . . . are you okay?

maurinsky said...

Well thank you for asking, Bee!

I'm fine, just really busy.