More Than a Hunch
Bar stool blonde rolls beer-muddled eyes,
I can be packed quick... anybody headed
for Denver... even Lincoln or Omaha?
She grips the bar, raises bare feet onto it.
A homeless, kicked-from-the-nest, unemployed
cabinet maker begs the bartender,
You wouldn't take a man's last loose change,
would ya... hang a man from his own ceiling?
It's the curse of an incoming thunderstorm,
moving north into Holdrege from Kansas.
It's the bar stool blonde with a green apple
belly ache and a boy doing county jail time.
It's thirsty bones poking out of thistle patches.
It's the motel with half-washed black towels.
It's short of midnight and the bartender
says the blonde is a symbol of day care.
The blonde says it's bad water from hog farms,
says, It was limp-dick school teachers
who caused me to lose being Miss Hereford.
She bites her lip, scowls, looks fence-post-hard.
It's stolen-from-the clinic used needles.
It's the local obsession with sub soil moisture.
It's being a bar stool blonde among the dim.
Soon it's going to be a brick through a windshield.