A waitress in Wranglers,
big buckle belt and black eye,
sings to jukebox ballads
as she juggles platters of draft beer
between tables to men of silence,
ponytails and ragged beards
A freshly stirred wood fire burns down
in a corner off the bar
Younger men at tables close to a TV
mounted high next to an elk trophy
shout and cheer and clink mugs
at a last minute jump shot
in the final game of the night,
look down a long wooden bar lined
with shot glasses of last swallows
Outside, the frozen darkness
hides zigzagging, rutted roads
to low rent trailer parks
from the last boomtown spree
No guarantee of work out there
in zero minus, minus,
no sweetheart to snuggle with
No fat chance an engine
in a once red pickup will turn over
in the black morning
or that its tires one day will crunch
to a stop in a gravel lot
at a better bar in a lively town
with men and women
of good will and good stead