Tavern Nights
The tavern sweats of stale beer and tobacco, while
wenches robust, heaving bosoms on platter display,
rove the tables filled of lecherous eyes, and
tweezer pinches on firm round bums,
procure squeals of adverse fun,
while pewter mugs clatter loud
in the rambling drunken din.
And fights ensue amid foaming brew,
tables and chairs like kindling splinter,
and numbed red cheeks and blackened eyes,
scrambled limbs and faded sighs,
till no-one wins or bothers to,
and the drinking goes on,
until the dawn or slumber’s muse attends.
By morning’s first light the stench is set,
tables and floors a soaked of brew,
and dirt and grit and spit and spew,
can only attest this human zoo,
and maidens naked in beds of hay,
accosted and defiled and laid in slumber’s way,
now lost in better dreams of day.
At midday the tavern doors do open wide,
inviting all to come inside, this den of iniquity,
where tables scrubbed and floors all cured of beer,
come to life by candle light,
the shadows hiding all the lewd acts and sins,
that night proclaims its own, and been,
to once again de-thrown civility.
‘Three Hog’s Tavern’, an eloquent naming.
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This sure brings the wild tavern life out in a vivid image, Tony. I enjoyed reading it.
Thanks Phyllis, back then it must have been a wild life alright. Cheers!
Sounds just like a Clint Eastwood movie Tony! Fun to read!
Glad you enjoyed it Jackie. Cheers!
Three Hogs Tavern, sounds like my kind of drinking oasis. I loved how you described each and every character, right down to the pewter mugs. I’m sure they had glass bottoms to have a quick look at enemies approaching, ready oneself with dagger in hand or pistol unveiled from hidden places. Oh those days of drinking heartily among comrades and wenches have long left this tired poet. Though memories serve me well, I can still smell that stale ale and heavily laden perfumed wenches sprawled naked on the hay, I especially enjoyed frolicking in the hay;-)))) Well written and left me with a wide grin penning my comment to you here. Bravo for the Taverns.
Agreed, but unfortunately those days are gone. but the memories do evoke a wry grin. Cheers!
This brings back some great memories!
Our little Iowa town had a population of 158 on normal days, with two such taverns and a dance hall called ‘The Prairie Moon Ballroom’, where, on Saturday nights, the population often swelled to over 2,000 by the big name country stars who played there.
My dad was the mayor, and our kitchen was the Saturday night courtroom, because he was also Justice of the Peace. Almost all of his customers were big old farm boys, drunk on their butts and bleeding from various places from fights, often with a best friend. Dad usually just fined them plus court costs and sent them on their way. If they came back, they went to county jail for the night.
I never appeared before Dad; not because I was innocent, but because I was careful not to get caught, all with the help of the moonlighting off-duty Cedar Rapids cops who policed our town on Saturday nights. It wasn’t that they liked me, but that they did like Dad and didn’t want to embarrass him by hauling my worthless butt to his court. He would have shown no mercy to me and we both knew it.
This is an accurate, hilarious, and wonderfully depicted piece about those wonderful days, Tony! Well done!
Thanks Will and so glad you enjoyed it. What a wonderful upbringing, I dare say there’s more than a book in what you just shared with me. Wonderful my friend and glad it brought back some memories of those wild days, when we go away with more than we should. Cheers!