Time To Meet The Widow by David Spicer

Just through the gates of the joint
in Walla-Walla, I need a stiff drink,
and I don’t mean sparkling water.
Maybe a lemonade and some gin
or a bottle of tequila in the motel room
after I arrive, take a real shower,
splash water on myself until my skin
wrinkles and shivers. Dry my tats
with the crummy towel and then
meet the widow for my bread. I’d love
to graze my tongue down her delicious
throat, but this is business. I should
charge her extra for my artist’s touch,
but I won’t. Her old man deserved my
garrote for his two-timing–too bad
the cops found him in the trench.
And if she claims she doesn’t have
my money, I’ll show no mercy when
I send the cops proof she helped.
I guess I could beat her until she
screams like a magpie or strangle
her in the forest under the moonlight
and then plant roses on her shallow
grave, but that won’t feed my starving
stomach. I need a smoke. Well, I’m
here. Time to meet the widow
and get what’s coming to me.

david-spicer-2
David Spicer has had poems in The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Gargoyle, Mad Swirl, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The New Verse News, The Laughing Dog, Chiron Review, Easy Street, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, among others, and in the anthologies Silent Voices: Recent American Poems on Nature (Ally Press, 1978), Perfect in Their Art: Poems on Boxing From Homer to Ali (Southern Illinois University Press, 2003), and A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Best of the Net twice and a Pushcart, and is the author of one full-length collection of poems, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke’s Press, 1987), and four chapbooks. He is also the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.
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