she dresses like a Dow Jones Dolly Parton
she talks like a Goldman/Sachs goat roper
she’s slumming in my beer joint with her financial advisor to people of high net worth honey
for a colorful story they can share at their next Republican fundraiser
but then drunken old Jimmy Hugley pukes down the back of her bar stool
her scream cuts down David Allan Coe’s voice out of the juke
she pushes away from the stool and stumbles and falls
her mega-bucks honey gapes in horror
but he’s frozen in place by what he sees like a dumb ass pillar of salt
and I rush in with an armful of bar towels
you’d think there would be something to learn from this scene
you’d think there would be some way to tie it into the dumb fuckery of our new zeitgeist
but I’m too busy wiping puke from the back of her blue and red satin blouse to come up with it
it’s all up in her fringe and smeared down her ribs and it stinks like only drunk old man puke can stink
and I know she’s going to stick me with the dry cleaner’s bill
in all the confusion some asshole grabbed the money out of my tip jar
and Jimmy crashed his nose into the corner of the jukebox and blood smears the glass
and the selector skips to Brenda Lee crooning I’m Sorry in her solid mezzo-soprano
and I suddenly remember I forgot to pay this month’s rent on this hell hole
and they’re going to soak me with a thirty-five percent late fee
Preacher Allgood's been told that his attitude stinks but that's just who he is.
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