The King Of Cool (Poetry)

He’s not tall or close to handsome
in the usual pin-up way —
he looks thin — vaguely unhealthy —
drinks and smokes too much, they say.

And quite careless how he dresses
he gets away with suits well-worn
takes his style from thirties fashions
long before the times he’s born.

He’s the crooner in the corner
in the sleazy downtown bar
his the voice they half-remember —
now an ageing burnt-out star

singing songs — the ones they wrote him —
all the hits that made the charts —
how the money burned like paper
while he broke a string of hearts...

Though the booze might slur the lyrics
he sits casual on his stool
with his famous days long-over
he is still the king of cool.