The lead guitar
Picks out the
Slow blues from
The jukebox as
He sits in the
Corner cuddled by
Shadows
His weathered hands
Holding whiskey
In a dirty glass
Sighing he touches the
Wrinkles on his cheek
Left by years of smoking
Cigarettes and cheap cigars
His hair cast
Across his forehead
In a sorry attempt
To hide his
Baldness and a
Crumpled leather
Jacket hid a
Crumpled frame
Taking another sip
He lets the whiskey and
The lonely music
Ease his tortured
soul
Wayne Hebb is a retired RCMP officer living in St. John’s, NL, Canada with his wife of 50 years. He enjoys writing poetry, short stories, creative nonfiction, and novels. Several of his poems have been published in Verse-Virtual, The Dark Poets Society, The Horseshoe Literary Magazine and The Galway Review.
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