Penngrove Poem

Penngrove

The Legendary John Cornelius Gains writes poetry every Sunday Morning and the gentle hero of Wednesday, mr. Myron the Moron slits open his own belly with loud kindness.
Monday the doors are quiet and only a little rumble can be heard from the Pub.
Tuesday I don't know what happens because I stay away.
Thursday is this or the other, with a rush people running from their homes to the bars and booths. Friday Petaluma and San Francisco drinking cocktails in glasses too small for their liquor. Fresh Radishs and burnt-just-right- porkchops.
Saturday a blur or pies and fresh lemon juice in cuts, smoke behind the bar and pipe dreams of patios.
Sunday again and the Legendary John Cornelius Gains has a new poem for us all.