Ron hopes you enjoy the sample poem below. A printed chapbook is in the planning stage.
1919
by Ronald L. Herron
Sunrise to sunset, six days a week,
for a buck-fifty and three squares a day.
Sunday's were tough, with nowhere to go 'cept church,
to moan o'er the blokes that week dead,
and no squares to count on,
'cept those you bought yourself.
That's if you were lucky enough
to have spending cash for Sunday meals,
after a week of smokes, tent-side craps and wagering
on whether Dewey'd sober long enough to do a lick.
And, maybe, maybe sending a ration
home to family, if you remembered,
after a Saturday night spent with a bath, a shave
and, if the bones rolled well, a pint and a red woman,
paid to make you forget you were a workin' man;
or to remember, don't rightly know which.
* * *
by Ronald L. Herron
Sunrise to sunset, six days a week,
for a buck-fifty and three squares a day.
Sunday's were tough, with nowhere to go 'cept church,
to moan o'er the blokes that week dead,
and no squares to count on,
'cept those you bought yourself.
That's if you were lucky enough
to have spending cash for Sunday meals,
after a week of smokes, tent-side craps and wagering
on whether Dewey'd sober long enough to do a lick.
And, maybe, maybe sending a ration
home to family, if you remembered,
after a Saturday night spent with a bath, a shave
and, if the bones rolled well, a pint and a red woman,
paid to make you forget you were a workin' man;
or to remember, don't rightly know which.
* * *
© 2011 R.L. Herron