Sunday, September 13, 2015

Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Last Night on the Town

 The one who was
 going to die this
 night was propped
 against the bar
 by an artificial
 limb. It was strange
 watching that light
 show, especially since
 he was buying all
 the losers drinks,
 leading a show which
 would end up a black    
 suit affair; not that
 any of these guys
 knew what a suit was.
 Most bar guys would be
 bummed when he went
 but I wasn't: I'd
 been called Dr. Death
 before. These things
 always seem to happen
 on my shift & after
 awhile you almost
 get used to it.
 I thought I was nice
 person once upon
 a time, but looking
 into the eyes of dead
 people does things to
you, I’m warped now,
broken, and nothing is
going to change that.

 Still Life with Martini

 They think it's funny
 that my bar nickname
 was Doctor Death.
 I never killed any of
 those people who dropped
 dead on me, it's just
 that their numbers came up
 on my shift.  The guy that
 fell over and heart attacked
 at my feet, I never even
 served.  Nor did I give
 that Lady at the I Tie
 anything; I pass the cordial
 cart by and she croaks.
 That's my fault, right?
 Ernie never even touched
 the martini before
 he had an aneurysm 
 in the bathroom.  He died at
 my feet, thirty-three years
 old.  I could see that
 martini I made him,
 shimmering on the table,
 long after he was gone,
 losing its chill.


 He was working
 on a felony DWI
 when they hit
 the car broadside.
 Later, cops would
 say off the record:
 "It was a good
 thing no one was
 smoking, there was
 enough alcohol
 inside that car
 to start a fire
 no five truck
 fire department
 town could ever
 dream of putting out."
 He looked relieved
 they survived,
 DOA reports must
 be a real pain
 in the ass.

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