Saddled with understanding,
It takes some getting used to,
The little bar
In which two people sat
And talked and smoked together,
The thirties.
In the streets outside it was clean,
But cheap. Inside all was fair—
All the air
That can only be inside.
There are men in cowboy hats,
Children who want no attention,
And get none
This is what understanding
Creates: the chorus.
And if it is meant all ways,
On certain days
Becomes thin and plain again,
Trim.