Hey buddy! Hey! You! buddy! I'm talking to you, buddy!

Here are a couple of little things. I wrote them. They're here. They don't set the world on fire, but why not, after all.

An Englishman first called me “buddy” in 1996

When I worked in a hotel, taking lazy men their drinks.

This portly gormless fellow was clearly set on congress -

Through largesse, he’d impress his doleful would-be conquest.

I brought them food a-plenty, a bottle or three of wine.

“Thanks, buddy” he said awkwardly, and put his hand in mine,

Cool as clammy cucumber, sweetening my pot

With cash to burn, he hoped she’d yearn for someone he was not.

Now marked as his accomplice, my gratitude was key,

Glancing down with good will at the cut he offered me.

His paramour (as yet unsure of her potential beau)

Looked grimly at my thin smile, already in the know.

My palm could hardly hide the harm of this incongruous sum

He spoke like an American but he did not tip like one.

and

The world is full

Of gaffes we’ve made

Which mattered not

Thank god

The world is full

Of half-baked puns

That crashed and burned

Or not

The world is full

Of money paid

On sunny days

For lemonade

The world is full

Of swallowed thoughts

And bitten tongues

Unwritten dreams

And hollow hopes

The world is full

Of immigrant

Irritants

To idiots

The world is full

Of money made

By cunning blades

From lemonade

On sunny days

The world is run

By American golfers

Shooting the breeze

Appreciating your time

Having mercy

Thanking the lord

Playing it straight

Respecting the rules

Part of the club

Selecting their club

Of choice.