Should he be shattered,
this Bone Daddy of a man, serving high spirits with short stories as long impetus for your therapeutic recollection
Bellying up barring none
a weathered wobbly welled barstool you settle reluctantly into its
softened cradled shape
wondering how many asses sat before
hoping for
happily ever afters
over shattered dreams
A bit uneasy,
slightly queasy
you settle in regardless
Gravely voiced skull and bones tattooed, the barkeep quickly sizes you up and your poison preference
as if another round
of liquid gold courage
and friendly conversation
will soothe your
soul’s savage beast
Gathering up stories of gadabouts and misfits
as the sun seeks the horizon
tumbling in from the cold
the keep steps it up another belt notch
to help you get a heat on
with the others mingling
down
and
out
He stands watching ready to set anyone free at moment’s notice detecting any action deemed misbehaving
His blade travels casually
along the skin of a juicy lime
popping it’s skin
deep
deep
deep with one fell swoop
narrowly missing tip of thumb as he stares you
eye to eye, man to man
cutting cunningly into your soul swiftly as current
events easily peel away layers with each pour
he will erase your fears and sorrow, if only for a moment
He smiles with a wink dropping a lime wedge
plunking into your tequila
it sinks
relieved
at the bottom of the glass
no longer subject
to cut of the knife
“What ails you?”, he asks with mild interest getting to the deep bones of your
soul seemingly
offering a safe place for you to rest under a spell
Looser tongued now
“Concubines and mystics,” you tell him immediately with regret
Now he has you
by the balls
You glance out the door contemplating freedom returning to rough road running along overgrown blackberry bushes prickly and ripe
travelling towards pending demise
on asphalt
and potholes
and gravel
under your iron horse
Instead of running yellow you stay for the buzz and warmth in from the rain you sit still keeping your head down and eyes towards the glass
in weak effort to avoid tongues wagging and weaving
a tale of intrigue reluctance with this
Bone Daddy of a man holding court
offering salty dog peanuts
on a silver platter
You find him getting the lowdown of your heart
You merely sought a snug harbor for the evening
from the tempest of life
Face the fear, you think while
huddling deeper into the dimly lit room nostalgic thick and heavy with the perfume of thwarted dreams
“She swore she knew me and would forever”, you mumble bravely adding
“I can’t recall her name
but the lines upon her face seemed so familiar.”
With but a whimper of her name on the tip of your tongue you add,
“I can still taste her…”, you tell the tender tenderly
Just as the glow of spirits fills you to the brim
your recollections become clear as mud
She had had you long ago
behind closed doors
once before along
this tricky road of dreams
But that was when your eyes weren’t closed and heart cloaked in false vibrato
Light flickers in and out
from the cracked window overlooking
craggy shore and mist kisses jutting against jetty
as curtains of waves part into the sea
feelings crash and slide
into a gauntlet of froth
She stood steadily
waving at your back
as you’d refuse to look
just out of line of sight watching you drift away that evening long ago
yet, so close now
you could feel her then
eyes bite holes
in the back of your head
“If memory could only serve as well as you”, you say to the bar keep
“Ah, yes, I recall. Her name is Mathilda”, says Bone Daddy,
“…and she says she knew you well.”
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