Tinker’s Damn

this town has ears of hens
beside stones in his mouth
and proof of the first noble truth
mary bloom goes on without you
as the taste of malt vinegar
wretches the petty thieveries
of good old greeks and irishmen
married to marx and freud
to buried wives who retell & retell
i am a repetition of bones
broken deliveries in earth paint
scrawled advice your teachers gave
but only remember as some old joke
that places us here in this tavern