I pulled up short
while the saloon doors still
swung behind me,
rattle and crash.
Not a soul looked up.
I thought I had intruded,
Mistakenly, on a sacred
Perhaps amidst the smoke
there had been a death
or a conversion
that would explain
the clientele’s postures.
Hunched over the hands
poised on their knees
I was reminded of a preacher
who reached out to the straying
By whispering in an evening voice:
“With every head bowed and every eye closed
come, come now and make the call…”
But there was no preacher here —
this was no prayer —
for the faces, lit by ghastly glow,
peered intently between thumbs
or under forefingers
into the eyes of another
Less demanding in some ways
More demanding in others,
that only seems to light a path
I turned on my boot heel
and walked back out into the sun
in search of more companionable
I played hookie on day six, guys.
Today’s prompt was to write about “money”, but it didn’t move me much. Instead this little beauty that’s been perking around since a recent trip to Chili’s came about. Hope it “speaks” to you somehow.