Stone Bar.

It sits there perched, up high atop the rocks.
The ocean beats the mossy rocks below.
Stone Bar’s the name, and yes, they do sell pot.
With complimentary Cokes, and papers to roll.

The Rasta man that serves us, well, he’s Thai.
Dreadlocked hair and a name that sounds like ‘Yut.’
He sits down and proceeds to get us high,
One spliff, another, another, and now I’m mute.

He speaks of politics, Jews, and Thai massage.
He loves Obama, and ‘Hillary Rodham Clinton.’
He says her whole name, just like that, no pause.
And then he speaks of Shakespeare, how he loves him.

Perhaps that’s why I’m writing down this sonnet…
Thanks to Yut, and ganga smoke, I’m on it.


3 Responses to Stone Bar.

  1. Sheila says:

    Well that sure put a smile on my face! I think that may be the first poem of yours I’ve ever read. Good stuff – keep them coming.

  2. B says:

    ahhh I love it, I’m totally living vicariously thru yu! Can’t wait to return there!

  3. Ben says:

    Sarah, I never read poetry, maybe because it’s usually so high-brow.

    I loved it. This is beautiful on a Saturday evening.

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