Dean Martin Poem by Raj Dronamraju

The ugliness of effort, its failure to attract
You talk like you really care and it runs down your arm like sweat

It's raining bourbon
And I wish you could bottle the essence of ease
And comfort with self
And sell it to awkward crowds in brown pants and shapeless flared collar dress shirts

I wish the comfort as evidence in relaxed conversation to anyone was bestowed on your anxious shoulders
Like a knighthood with three sword taps

Instead, I grind in the strain of what is felt forever
I toil far away from a tuxedo
Or the elegance of style and what can't be emulated