Poetry / The Drunken Cowboy Gypsy Hour
He pours himself a Jack and Coke,
more booze than cola, as usual,
yes, more bitter than sweet,
nuzzling into his favorite chair—
a softly cushioned antique
with all the right spots to hug
his strong but not obsessed over body.
His will is weak and he wants
to see the strippers of the Curvy Cabaret,
Tucson’s finest in youthful skin and wasted time.
The dusty sky straddles deep, hook grooved clouds,
a rodeo of wind sweeps into his quaint Arizona
residence, as he hopes for darkness, for rain
to purify his sin-filled mind.
The whiskey will have to do,
as he dumps the small glass out
over the splinter-ridden railing
on the best front porch his money could buy.
This time, he’d fill the glass entirely bitter.
At night, he could see every star
light up his block, his feet lifted
to the railing, free from leather boots.
One hand gripped the glass, the other
on the chin, stroking the hairs poking out
from his one-time soft jaw.
And as the glass slips and cracks,
on the wooden porch, dawn makes the stars
flicker and bounce to the other side of the world.
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It painted a pretty descriptive image. The flow is off I think choosing some differant words or differant spacing would benifit this piece.The one line I really had trouble with was his strong but not obsessed over body.
I really didn’t get what this line was for
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