Russian Roulette..

In war. No-one wins. Just leftover men, just hollow men.

Russian roulette…

Beautiful young woman danced on a stage on the border of Austin Texas, moving like a beautiful butterfly in the breeze. She held the attention of the men holding tightly to good whiskey and the gin.

A religious man sat with me drinking Jack Daniel straight. He told me the rapture is coming and it is too late.

I held my whiskey tight, watched the young woman on stage.

I waved a five dollar bills. She came near. Brought my face close to her face. She whispered. Thank you Johnnie. You are a gem. The darkness had overtaken me and I told my sisters many ways to die, can play Russian roulette with a mirror or slowly poison the blood and the mind. Fast death or slow death. Old world is playing Russian roulette with us anyway.

I have watched old Soldiers die from wounds by the old wars. They drank for themselves and friends lost in the dirt of Korean and Vietnam war. The old boys didn’t complain. I watched many die and I wonder would they repeat their life as it was?

The girl with the big blue eyes sat on my lap. She asked for me to read her a poem. I laughed and told her.  I will write a new one for you my blue eye princess. I ordered a Jack with no ice and a coke for my dancer friend. I asked her does she want a love poem? An erotic poem or a poem of misery and chance? She smiled and kissed my cheek. Requested a poem of misery and tears.

( Russian roulette..

The gun is loaded,
old heart is gone,
nothing is left.
I roll my fingers on the chamber,
I know there is three bullets in my father’s old 32.

I pray for one damn good reason to be alive.
No-one answered, nothing appeared in my mind or heart.
The silence mean there is nothing left.

Old 32 pistol is very old.
Dad carry the side arm for 30 years,
it had been sitting in a safe place waiting.

I hold the gun in my hand.
Was it a savior or a bad ending?
I drink from the bottle of Black velvet,
I looked to the sky.
Told God. No Russian roulette today.
Ain’t a good day to die.

The end.)

I asked my beautiful dancer. Did the poem have enough misery and sadness? My friend laid her head into my chest and soft tears begin to fall. She whispered. Yes it did. Please don’t leave my kind and sad Poet. I told her. I will stay as long as you need me near.

Coyote

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.