I wrote this poem after driving home from a gig, in the wee hours of a wet morning,
listening to Tom Waits; that manly, but thoughtful, balladeer. So appropriate for late drives, French poker, drunken pianos and other wonders of the quiet hours.

Old Tom Frost

by Franco Bertucci

Old Tom Frost with the gravelly voice,
not yet shredded,
sings to me
and to all the manly souls on the road
at this hour of the morning.
Truckers and traveling guitar players-
amps and axes, frozen food in tow.
Drinking coffee behind the wipers,
longing for her
but sad to leave Old Tom and the old wagon,
parked and steaming in the rain.

Awkward Guy

Poems and other things. ©2010 Franco Bertucci - Donate to the awkward cause