Alone With Her Thoughts

Sitting in a saloon with a beer on a Sunday, she drank and plotted life on a napkin.

Outside, December's bells and song reminded her that she and all the other dirty drinkers were young once, when wishes were as easy as bubble gum.

Christmas: saloon doors swinging behind her she left a coin for the carolers and hummed their song.

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I handed out hope in a glass

to trembling hands and cracked lips

parched and parted and grim

limp, overused dollars

watery hopes

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I have not seen Santa in a year

a year of hangovers, arguments, love, and burnt dinners

and heartache, stupid as a stone.