She was backlit
By the flames
Of the burning bridges

She was backlit
By the flames
Of the burning bridges
Perched on the barstool
on crossed feet to look taller
he downed another pint
smacked down the mug
When he wanted to
if push came to shove
if the shit hit the fan
he could really mix it up
A low centre of gravity
fists as fat as hams
and an acumen buoyed
on barley and hops
He’d left the crown
on the bookshelf…
tonight was about drinking
and whatever else came his way
From Sonofabitch Poems, 2011