Cafe Lattes

The girls swept the porch
in a frenzied waltz,

while the ” touched” man,

stained and bruised,

clapped.

 

 

The spectacle that was the murdered dog,

shot through a dozen times,

dragged through town,

was politely discussed.

 

 

Hushed tones,  cracked lips ,

gnarled handed,  cafe lattes.

 
The ghost of Johnny Cash
passed through the room.

 
Ask the blind girl,

she saw it all.

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1 Comment

Filed under Blood, History, outlaw poetry, poetry, Short stories and essays, Spirituality

One response to “Cafe Lattes

  1. myabsolutefragileessence

    I enjoyed this one. Very nice.

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