Or what happens when I speak in Texan
This piece (and many of the previous western themed pieces below) comes from a collection I have been working on titled Whiskey and Cactus Wine: A Dedication to the West. (Please note: Audio is included. To listen, simply click the title.)
You’ve been sitting on that bar stool for three days, Jack.
You’d think you would have at least changed that shirt.
He looked down at his white button-up shirt
Tinted pale yellow from the sweat of three days
Worth of whiskey.
You’d think you would have had enough to drink by now
But I’ll pour you another. I’ve always did have a soft spot for sufferers.
Before he swallowed the burning in his throat,
He swirled the liquor in his glass like a sommelier
Would to a fine Cabernet or Merlot.
You haven’t said a word in three whole days, Jack.
That’s long enough to drive a man crazy, if he weren’t already.
His mouth opened slightly but closed back tight.
Teeth grinding below his unkempt mustache,
He took another swig.
I always thought of you as a pretty sane man, Jack,
But lately, I’m not to sure about you anymore.
He sat up a bit to reach around his gun holster
and into the pocket of his khakis for a couple of coins
To put on the bar.
I feel bad for you but it serves you right for falling for a Miss.
I’d have let you fall in love with me if I thought you would.
He looked up just long enough for the brown eyes
Underneath his Stetson to meet the center of mine before
His neck bent back into a slouch.
Hell, I might still consider it if you changed your shirt
Every once in while and maybe took your hat off for a lady.
The left side of his lip curled up as he snarled at me.
His boots slid out from under the bar stool and he stood
Up as if he were going somewhere.
Oh, sit back down, Jack. You don’t deserve it but I’ll pour
You another. I always did have a soft spot for sufferers.
