Screwed Up in Beaver Dam
A feeling of grit in my throat
The road kept stretching further and further down a lick of ice
I lost that number from that bar
That girl named after a drink special, I think
All was drunk, I definitely was
Stuffed with chuck wagon and a disgusting sludge
Moving in my stomach like A Vietnam War
Napalm vomit all over these grasses
And that road looks so slick, and those ditches shrink closer into the road.
I remember now, I think she said Beverly Jo
Married to Bo with the cancer growth
But, she was thirsty
Looking for Billy, Jack, or Billy Jack
And judging you by your jeans
She chews on gum with Pabst Blue onion rings
And you dance around like a clown of trash
You decide who needs vows when you know your death is on that backroads.
She snuck away with your wallet
Bending from your back pocket
To a restroom she goes, and you scream something incomprehensible and fall back into a billiards table.
I believe she left off in a big truck with durable snow tires and chains
Now, i’m screwed in Beaver Dam
With a concussed head, no money, no phone signal, and a daddy in the County Jail, all my buddies are drunk at home with their families watching infomercials.
Making plans to buy bronzed Last Supper plates.
All I have left in my pocket is some generic bandages, and a crushed cigarette
So, I start that truck up after 12 tries, I slipped on myself and all my dignity several times.
With ice covered windows I drive straight into the Colonial Motel sign
Now, if i’m alive. I believe I met an angel
And heaven smells like Aspercreme with Lidocaine.
Photo by Steven Lewis on Unsplash