TAVERN IN THE TOWN
by John T. Baker
I feel sorry for youngsters 
     who never will know
The excitement and thrill 
     of the old minstrel-show
Where the end men would hassle 
     with chuckles and groans
The glib interlocutor 
     called "Mr. Bones;"

Then they'd do a soft-shoe, 
     cracking jokes asinine
While the four barbershoppers 
     sang "Sweet Adeline,"
Or those Womanless Weddings 
     that then were the rage.
Performed in a barn, 
     at a gym, on the stage;

When your crystal-set brought you 
     the sports and the news
And your friendly bootlegger 
     delivered your booze;
Or the neighborhood drugstore 
     where gladly you'd work
Every Saturday night 
     as a proud soda-jerk;

Motion pictures were silent 
     till talkies appeared,
And you found double dates 
     not as bad as you'd feared;
With your pal as the driver 
     your joy was complete
As you snuggled up close 
     in that old rumble seat;

Then on Sundays you'd crank 
     on the ice cream machine
And fill all the lamps 
     with some more kerosene;
After supper was over, 
     your homework all done,
Came the time set aside 
     for some family fun

Playing checkers or Rook 
     or perhaps dominoes
While Grandma kept knitting 
     and Grandpa would doze,
Till soon everyone would 
     be nodding his head,
And off you would go 
     to your warm featherbed.

I've no wish to return 
     to the old-fashioned ways
But it's nice to remember 
     those innocent days
When Life was more simple, 
     the pace not as fast . . .
If only the Present 
     could learn from the Past!