Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Alan Catlin- Three Poems


Enough

She worked
the bar
as if she
was working
the streets
Called all
the men
sweet things
or honey
pies
Had tip cups
everywhere
under the bar
like she was
running a
concession
Drank
straight Vodka
warm Man
while she
worked
I wondered
where she'd
be when
all these
men had
had enough



A Man Called Horse

He was
on Horse
alright
His eyes
were so
bummed
out
you could
see his
soul
cruising
over the
edge of
a cliff
He was
riding
so hard
you couldn't
ever imagine
him
sitting
still
unless
you carried
stiffs
for a
living



Chest Surgeons

They slip
into the night
like bad
dreams
Take over
your bar
Stab pointed
fingers in
your chest
Tell you
all about
the politics
of South
East Asia
Drink
everything
X‑tra dry
Want to
know why
you're not
smiling
Want to
know why
your chest
is a mass
of scars


1 comment:

  1. Yikes. Warm vodka...Don't ever remember my waistline being as skinny as these pieces...and if I drank warm vodka (likely) don't remember that, either.

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