Bar-Maid Sent
she spins the glass
knows that guns blazing
he'll come soon
at the ante-room
to the crematorium and bar
the pale rider
for no-one special
just another regular
who'll exit
lit-up by the fruit-machine
to the hitching-rail outside
where
hooves ascrape in the parking-lot
awaits his final ride
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Added by Poetry Lover
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