Poetry Archives

“Why, Max!  Stop, Max!”  And out they came pell-mell,
His old companions.  “Max, where have you been?
Not drink with us?  Indeed you serve us well!
How many months is it since we have seen
You here?  Jan, Jan, you slow, old doddering goat!
Here’s Mynheer Breuck come back again at last,
Stir your old bones to welcome him.  Fie, Max.
Business!  And after hours!  Fill your throat;
Here’s beer or brandy.  Now, boys, hold him fast.
Put down your cane, dear man.  What really vicious whacks!”