She drank as good as any man there, and more,
Must’ve drowned the sorrows of twelve men one night
But I’d never seen her there before
She was a young girl – must’ve been nineteen,
But she sat on her barstool, drooping like the rest of us.
I asked the bartender ‘bout her, but the waved me away
“We’ve all got problems,” he said, “In that I trust.”

 She kept coming, all those nights I saw,
Even when I wasn’t there, so they said
Taking her own, all in long, cool draughts,
And staggering home through the dark, to a bed

And this one night, this guy, he plays the piano some,
Then they put on the jukebox for a while
And some ask her “come dance with me hon,”
And she won’t for a while… but she will in a while.
Then this other, he plays his blues-harp,
And she kinda perks up, pushes herself up on the style. 

She looks at me kinda slow, kinda strange
She plays with her hair, tangled blonde mane

And she says, “Hey man, let’s dance the blues.
It’s getting closer to midnight, and we’re all trying
To lose ourselves, and I feel like dancing to some blues.
Let’s get the hell out of here, ‘cause we’re all dying,
And we’ve got nothing – and everything – left to lose.”

So I get up, and dance with her, and she laughs a little;
She’s kinda pretty, but maybe too young
“Nineteen’s a little young to be drunken,” I say,
But she giggles a little, stumbles a little, dances ‘round me
A little, a little…
Like she’s telling me no one should be living this way.
Like no one should be like this every night, you see? 

And we’ll stop for a while, drink more for a while,
While they play the piano and harp for a while.
 
Next night I come, she’s not there, nor ever.
I don’t ask what became of her. But the bartender knows
I know, and whatever.
It’s always whenever, not where that they go.

But her, I’ll remember, I guess.
Less transparent than the others,
The girl that’s too young – more’n the rest
Than go there for drowns and smothers.

The man still plays the piano some nights
And the other, with the blues-harp.
And I still hear her, in the dim light,
And she’s saying, “Hey man, let’s dance the blues.
It’s getting closer to midnight, and we’re all trying
To lose ourselves, and I feel like dancing to some blues.
Let’s get the hell out of here, ‘cause we’re all dying,
And we’ve got nothing – and everything – left to lose.”

Author guidance for This poem

A song.

Or rather, a set of song lyrics without the music.

If you'd like, you can set it to the tune of Piano Man by Billy Joel, or the end of American Pie by Don McLean (not the chorus).

updated Jan 31 '11 by Lyre