Tavern Intalkeetna Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

I remember it now as a hole in the wall
though at the time I stopped there
for directions to Denali

It seemed like authentic frontier
grizzled trappers and prospectors
at the circular bar

The drinks were never on the house
better than working the river
for gold its owner said

A city chap from Seattle he was
splindly and gray-faced
in red flannel shirt

He perched on a stool near the register
and chatted on about his life
as an entrepreneur

The wilds of Alaska diminished
in my eyes with this specimen
no way a Jack London

Simply another loud-mouthed
phony from the lower 48
shooting off his mouth