THE DRUNKEN RAINS OF DECEMBER

My baby and I went to the fights one night so she could bet the sure thing
The reigning great white hope whose golden robe read "Security"
But I took her change and the bet I placed was on the contender
Brooklyn trained, by those drunken rains of December

I spent my time down at the bars at night while my jellyroll stayed home alone
I stayed out a little late one night and when I got home I found her note.
She left me then for reasons that most men seldom remember.
No one to blame, but those drunken rains of December.

Well that was too long ago to harbor regrets
she always did what was right
I always did what was left.

When Gerty wrote Ernie*, her old writing pal, for a token to remember him by
he thought, "Why Ms. Stein do you need a token? Parisian memories should suffice."
So he started to think that the next best thing that he, as a writer could send her
was a letter
stained by those drunken rains of December.

As close to religion as I ever come, is playing Thelonius Monk
but I know of Jesus' soft spot for lost puppies, old pickups and drunks
So when death comes to call I know my next high ball
will flow from heaven's blender
and bongo's will play
like those drunken rains of December.

*Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemmingway

Copyright 1996 Crissum Publishing Iswingswide@yahoo.com