A Quiet Drink in Mobile

'I'd lick mah balls like a yaller dawg,
if'n ah could, ah shorely would.'
I moved my stool further down the bar.
The philosopher followed, his mouth ajar.
'Reckin' that proves there ain't no Gahd,
coz ah tried an' ah cain't, that proves there ain't.'
The barkeep's eyes did a nervy jump,
I flicked two fingers and he poured from the pump.
I smiled at the tramp and the barkeep just sneered.
The old man wiped his fingers in his dirty beard,
caught all of the crumbs, and suck-licked his thumbs.
I pushed him a beer, said ' I happen to know,
God moved here about two weeks ago.'
He snorted snot, said 'The Nicholas place?
That ain't the Lord, jest a banker got bored.'
The beer was cold, an imported brand,
I grabbed the old hobo by his arthritic hand.
'I'm here to tell you, to come to the Lord.'
His look said I was something queer;
he ran out the door, while I finished his beer.