‘Pokes

a wayside bar
in Reagan country

leaning up against
a four-wheel drive
all american cowboys
spitting chew
a gauntlet
one had to dodge
in order to get a drink

cowboy fucks
in high heeled
imitation snakeskin
cockroach killers

to fight each one of them
to prove myself worthy
of a beer

‘pokes
slower
than the cows
they wooed into the night

fuck ’em

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Filed under American West, outlaw poetry, poetry

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