At the saloon
a poem
a five-string band charms the crowd, after a day of redneck golf anthills frequent as sage bothered the dogs second place was a four-way tie— no matter, everyone cheated and laughed the highway crew boss buys a round, sweat-streaked bottles three deep and counting on joke-piled tables, applause between songs the stand-up bass is the favorite, the dog named Abraska, and the father and daughter who dance practice, they say, for the wedding— still two years out— but she’s leaving soon so they sway, sunburned and singing, pretend to not hear the last call
I’ve been deep in revisions and edits of poems yet forthcoming, so today felt like a good day to break with that pattern and share an early draft of a piece I wrote fast this morning, after a lovely evening out at our favorite saloon. There’s something about Wyoming saloons where everyone knows everyone, and laughter continues all night.
Oh, I really like this one Aaryn. All the details bring me into the space with you. The ending in particular is sweet and a little unexpected