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Poetry: Poncho 


the gay bartender shook a drink
for you while I pointed out the mirrors
the tin ceiling
from 1916 the raven-haired
waitress I loved

yes this is my wife I told
her and we drank an hour away at
the zinc bar
with the University Avenue
traffic dying by degrees and old
Minneapolis fading

to nothing
I looked like a millionaire to them
maybe and you
like the kept pampered pet
the foolish one the dark-frayed
beauty who believed
anything she was told

the salad arrived you
were entranced more wine I called
and when
Brittany poured my glass she smiled at
me as though to say what
terrible thing have you done
now

Speaking of...

  • Poncho, a poem by Richard Donnelly

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