a poem by Scot Young

there is always a girl who listens to my songs
 leaving with some cowboy's hand on her ass

as i sing under these cold blue lights

this silver buckle rests
in the groove worn
on the back of this
pawn shop guitar
one pant leg half
in my boot
the other out
a cigarette burns
close to tuners
smoke dances
to three chords

too many fights
in this stetson pulled
down and shaped
with spilled beer
i sing this willie song
about rain--blue eyes
and ours never meet

when I look up
your empty glass
on the bar
says you left and
nobody in this dive
gives two shits
about sad songs

© Scot Young