Troubadour

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For many years, I’ve been cruising bars and cafes
with my old six-string to play and sing funky blues
in that special ambiance of whiskey bouquets.

All the losers with their varied scars and tattoos
throw tips in my jar while they request a favor
and reinforce their courage by guzzling more booze.

That roughly woven texture of social flavor
with liquored lullabies ‘neath ruddy neon glow
forms the velvet backdrop of my soul I savor.

An agent says he can get me a lot more dough
for my grand repertoire of picking and grinning
if I’d be willing to take off and join his show.

It’s surely a chance for a brand new beginning
that could easily start a more bountiful trend,
but might soon set this country boy’s head to spinning.

There’s no way to know what’s coming around the bend.
Will there be success to fill many happy days,
or will it become the beginning of the end?