Once upon an evening cheery, while I drank a mug of beer, he
Came into the Boston bar, descending from the upstairs door.
As I sipped, between drunk and buzzed, suddenly there the mailman was,
Sitting near me at the bar, at the end near Diane Chambers’ door.
“Another beer,” I ordered, sitting near Diane Chambers’ door.
Quoth Cliff Clavin, “Hiya, Norm.”
Ah, distinctly I recall how he enjoyed his alcohol
And Carla waited tables, serving drinks that Coach would pour.
Short of cash, much to my sorrow, twenty dollars I did borrow.
For instead of going home to Vera, I wished to drink some more.
Vera, my wife, who would rather that I drink no more,
Faceless here forevermore.
Cliff knew facts on lots of things: jet lag, cavemen, word meanings,
And he liked to share his knowledge of things he’d heard somewhere before.
Like the time Coach fell in love and pondered the big question of
How the heart works, a question he didn’t need an answer for.
A rhetorical question, one he didn’t need an answer for.
Quoth Cliff Claven, “It’s essentially an involuntary muscle, activated by electrical impulses…”