Mason the Dwarf by Brenton Booth

When Bill drank soda
for the first time at the
bar and told me he had
found God, Mason the
dwarf rushed across
the room to us. "The
Devil made me!" he
yelled at Bill finishing
his full glass of vodka
with a single angry gulp.
Mason was a regular.
Always sat alone, 
drinking vodka. Waiting 
at the door every morning
when we opened. Moving
his tiny legs as fast as he
could to get to the bar
and order his first drink.
He never spoke. Just 
drank. Sitting in the same
spot at the end of the bar.
At closing time every 
night I'd have to carry 
him out, leaving him on
the bench outside. "Will
you be OK here Mason?"
I'd say. "GET THE HELL
AWAY FROM ME!" he'd
scream. He constantly 
played the same song on
the jukebox, Mariah
Carey's "All I Want for
Christmas is You." When
he got really drunk, he'd
play it again and again.
Tapping along with his 
tiny hands and feet: until
everyone but him was 
sick of hearing it. 

Brenton Booth Lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared in Chiron Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Main Street Rag, Naugatuck River Review, Van Gogh's Ear, and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press. brentonbooth.weebly.com