A Town Called Rotgut
as I sit in the dingy saloon. Dehydrated and week.journey so long,I hardly feel
my feet.town name, town name, plays over in my head.the name rot and gut is
playing over instead. my insides are the first, and the second are the same.my
travils have prevented me from from feeling sane.as I turn my head, to view all
that is around.the whiskey and beer is flowing so sound.relief ,relief, is all I
need.so I raise my hand for the bartender to see.the room is humming,with an
awkward sound.one as if, just alchaholics around.as I order my drink,I feel a
pain inside, been to long, no alchahol to be found.as the drink gets slammed in
front of my being, the name of the town releases it's fear, rotgut,rotgut once
again in my mind.as I look around,there is no real cowboy to be found.i pick up
my boots and head for the door.never again will I drink no more.making my way
out the dusty town,my life looks better, no rotgut around.
Copyright © Sheryl Wood | Year Posted 2014
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