Spit, Sawdust And The Farcicle Spaghetti Western - Poem by karen sinclair
Last night within the spit and sawdust of..
The White Horse...(public house)
Whilst I chose to sail
Far too... close to the wind, smiling at.
Friend foe and bartenders
As I dived need er ly
Within the whit/ering beer goggles
Of vodka and whatever...
I mean after all... after the shit day we'd had
Lost a home gained a flat, lost said flat..
Homeless in two weeks
Yet in sane day
Finding another flat
Not bad but drat...wasn't exactly the hovel of my dreams
I chose to swim in vodka
Not a care in the world until
I noticed two fellas brawling out of the mens toilets
And it was as beautiful as a contemporary ballet...
One had a dark shaved head
So I was gone
In the middle
As on the way through
I thought it was my man
Getting pummeled and pounded
And I could hardly just stand and watch
Between two fiery charged up men
I stood as punches past over and round
Believe my fists flew too
As my right hand hurts now.
But it was good honest fun
And I was dragged off by my man
A bit of spit sawdust and blood is as old as religion...
So ill hang my head in shame and smile at the floor...
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