How Curious, this Man!

I could travel for days on end

I could take my time across every bend

Yet, despite how long I may take

I see this man, for goodness-sake

I would return to the aged counter

Allowing the stool beneath my weight creak

Softly shifting the contents in my cocktail with the flower

And shift my gaze to the figures that'd come in that week

Upon a ceramic saucer, two honey rolls

Arranging them absent mindedly, allowing the weight to tilt the plate

I'd take note of the trip that bore holes

Before directing my attention to the tender who was allowing his mixer to shake

Despite the fact I'd regularly binge my drinks

I figured I'd only have a single glass and then hang

But when this man walks in, it shifts how anyone thinks

As this man would stumble about, sitting abruptly with a bang

When he sat, my gaze shifted downward

Watching his blubber crease against the table, a little awkward

I hadn't a clue of his plan

All I could think was "How curious, this man!"

He wore shades that covered his eyes

And an un fastened suit that barely scraped his thighs

His hair, a mangled kraken

And his speech, slurred a-somethin' forsaken

To the tender he would babble

in a very lack luster way, more akin to a gabble

And his request at the end, he requested a drink

And the tender's answer, what do you think?

With a shake of his head, he denied him in cold gale

Unamused by this tall tale

Very abruptly he stood with a wail

As every time he came in, this story would fail