A Lost Love

I come to this bar when I’m able.

There’s wine and whisky and beer.

You’ll find darts and a shuffleboard table.

But that’s not the reason I’m here.

It’s that woman who waits on the tables.

If you ask which one you’ve gone blind.

She has a cleavage almost to her navel.

And she is driving me out of my mind.

I watch as she flirts with the cowpokes.

The one’s by the bar, on the stools.

And I see how she laughs at their old jokes.

She surely must take them for fools.

But there they all sit with their Stetsons.

Each with its sweaty headband.

Can’t she see how they all suck their guts in

Whenever they walk to the can?

I have never seen one so graceful

As she flits between tables and bar

Ignoring remarks so disgraceful.

As she cashes their tips in her jar.

She’s pleasant enough when she serves me.

She smiles as she hands me my glass.

But somehow this woman unnerves me.

And I’ve never the courage to ask.

Would you like to go out for the evening?

We could go to the club for a drink.

Or perhaps we could take in a movie.

Or a couple of games at the rink.

But when I speak my mouth fills with marbles

And the sweat on my palms gets worse.

And the words that come out are all garbled

Those lines I’ve so carefully rehearsed.

And I feel as if everyone’s staring.

All of the patrons and staff.

Is she smiling to tell me she’s caring?

Or is she suppressing a laugh?

I cast my eyes to the rafters.

And try to avoid all their stares.

That’s when I encounter their laughter.

And I sink further down in my chair.

And there I just sit and get older.

And ponder this taciturn curse.

For time doesn’t let me get bolder.

And sometimes I think I get worse.

I know some day I’ll be carried.

To that hill where the crocuses wave.

For that’s where I’ve asked to be buried.

With a small bronze plaque on my grave.

It will say he was a good lover.

For he loved the way good cowboys do.

And he had one love above others

But that one love never knew.

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