Barry claims nobody loves him
Which is probably true for he is a most unlovable man,
Whose drunken behavior, foolishness and acting out,
Hardly endear him to anyone.
Yet he does his best in his own way,
Working like a Trojan six days a week bulldozing basements.
Jet black hair, wide forehead,
A wild, deranged cast to his eye
Terrifying anyone passing him by on a city street.
Was that Raskalnikov? They might say,
Or some other terrible St. Petersberg murderer?
“I saw smoke coming from the chimney,” he says,
“So I thought I would drive up and find out what the hell is going on!”
Nothing much, Barry, just the old bookworm
Nose between the pages
Or giving himself paranoid lectures on Literature.
Six times he repeats the reason for his visit,
A disjointed one for Barry is six sheets to the wind,
Soon to be nine for he snorts from his mickey
As often as a bird pecks seed from a feeder.
He has woman problems.
He gives me the details which are very graphic.
He always picks the wrong woman.
They drink too much or they steal his money and run off.
Ungrateful they are and they have no love in them.
What do I think?
“Look around for a good one, Barry.”
“Easier said than done,” he says.
“Yes, by God, easier said than done.”