One more crappy tourist town, and one more tourist bar
Within it; I sit on a stool. I'm alone. The other seats are
Held by groups or couples, soaking up the ambience
("We're cowboys in a frontier town; snap our picture
With my phone"). The barmaid flits. I watch her dole
Out menus, coasters, silverware. When she finally comes
To me, I gaze into the eyes of someone who is nearly dead
Inside. I ask her for a bourbon, neat; that's all. I know
She hasn't time to speak. The crowd thins some as I am
Drinking. She still bustles here and there. It hurts to watch
Her suffer so, to wonder what she faces when she comes
Home after working here, but there is nothing I can do.
I'll be two hours down the road before rises from her
Bed, and, from that point, with luck, I will not think
Of her again.