For Jim


Down at the Wagon Wheel

Perhaps it's just the bourbon, but I swear
I'll fall completely for her if she says that I
Should call. The weeks alone, the mournful
Sound of only keys which clatter as I scorn
The rubes and name my sorrows, drunk
At home at night, have left me ill-prepared
To steel myself against the flights of fancy
Her unbuttoned shirt and raptor's gaze
("Divorced, you say? Who would have
Guessed?") elicit. I'm a broken man,
And, if she sees something in me, if she
Can kill the loneliness, at least until
Some other guy who sports a bigger
Cowboy hat and has a newer pickup
Truck, can lever her away from me,
I'll sway serenely, falsely thinking I've
Ascended into heaven, when it's quite
Conceivable that I'm approaching hell.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 61 times
Written on 2019-11-07 at 01:10

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jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Put this to three chords and a graveled voice and you've got yourself a hit.

"Sound of only keys which clatter" seals the deal. A rough and ready poem, and good.

I suspect it is the bourbon.
2019-11-07