There I was,

a celluloid cabaret, looking

as rough as following a night

celebrating an election win for Bill

in a bar full of dead winded strangers,

and not a dime passing my way

throughout, all toasting

this guest of wit and sarcasm,

piss drunk and fancy free,

my observations on Bush V Clinton

skewed by admiring Bill

and thinking he represented real change

here in this bar, tapped out, exhausted

by an early morning Greyhound race

from New York to Niagara Falls,