I was in Deadwood, South Dakota
an old mining town
famous for its gold rush
and like most of the prospectors there
I'd busted flat.
I was staying at the oldest hotel in town
or at least that's what I was told
and to add to my luck
I’d gotten into yet another fight
with the girl I was traveling with.
So as I learned to do
in grim times such as these
I took myself down to the hotel saloon
which seemed like a good place to fall apart
I had a few drinks and between sips
I noticed the bar was nearly as empty
as my wallet.
I asked the bartender what the deal was
she told me that Merle Haggard
was playing a show at the amphitheater
on the other side of the ridge
and everyone in town had tickets.
I lowered my head defeated
knowing with a little preparation
I could have been in attendance
rather than sitting here alone
on a barstool again.
I finished my beer
headed to the elevator
closed the rattling gate
in front of me and realized
that these iron bars
seemed more like jail cell doors
than safety equipment
that were now slamming shut on my evening.
I finally made my way back to my room
on the top floor
hoping to salvage whatever fun
I could have for the night.
Opening the door
and receiving the silent treatment
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey
and made my way to the rooftop
which had a makeshift patio,
the kind you’d see in a hobo camp
down by the rails.
There was a wobbly table
and two of those old 1980’s
metal folding chairs
that would stick to your back
in the heat of summer days.
As I sat in the darkness
like a lonesome fugitive
reevaluating some of my life choices
that now stung like misery and cheap gin.
Suddenly
as if someone had plugged in the jukebox
came that unmistakable
gravel road voice of Ol Hag
rising up and over the ridge!
The tunes spilled out
through the shadows
like yesterday’s wine
and at this very moment
he was singing directly to me.
One hit after another
filled the night air
of what was becoming
my own personal
honky tonk heaven
and I thought to myself
as I raised the bottle
one more time
I think I'll just stay here and drink.
Jake St. John lives in the woods on the edge of the Salmon River. He is the author of several collections of poetry including Lips Leave Scars (with Jenn Knickerbocker, Whiskey City Press, 2023) Ring of Fog (Holy and Intoxicated Publications, 2022), Night Full of Diamonds (Whiskey City Press, 2021), and Lost City Highway (A Jabber Publication, 2019). He is the editor of Elephant and is considered an original member of the New London School of poetry. His poems have appeared in print and online journals around the world."
His current book, The 13th Round is published through Six Ft. Swells Press and is available everywhere please pick yourself up a copy today.
https://www.amazon.com/13th-Round-Jake-St-John/dp/B0F2KBGR8M
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