They grew bolder as the leaders
lost brothers, toes, teeth,
no job was too awful,
that was the legend, right?
they quizzed the Drummer
weren’t they the stuff of old legends?
Billy the Kid, Dillinger, the Okay Corral.
The Drummer didn’t have the heart
to explain the sacrifices legends require
It was easier to find notebooks and pens
he tossed her the last fruit pie
the remaining Dr. Pepper
She clutched a new notebook to her chest
the wind turbine over the Last Stop Saloon
thrummed in the sky
come, charge for free, invited the owner
although there is little to say
The older woman offered a cupcake
too fat, the girl automatically announced
recognizing the object
as a no in the magazines
Ah, the woman bit into the cupcake. with relish
just so you know, here
along the edges of the world
we all eat dessert first
Wasted hills, an early apocalypse
stranding survivors: rocks, dried creeks
chunks of asphalt road haphazardly
fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle
no one cared to finish
because the final picture wasn’t very compelling
not with the trains instead
Sam squinted against the savage sky
blue washed out to faded denim
I think it always looked like this
In a breath the land shifted
train rails blew
scattering Goblins like rubber toys.
Sam pushed the girl behind him, tense.
Survivors muttered and gathered fruit and baskets determinedly marched west
With a whoop imitating old films
the terror gang roared in
throwing more hard explosions into the crowd
the girl and Sam hid
with the dust and chaos
down, down, Sam hissed
The Drummer recognized the top hat
Turned away and gestured
over there — gold shavings! lumps of coal!
Hey, a brother cut off a goblin head
yanked off a necklace
did you hear the one about the people on the boat?
what about the boat?
they sailed for three hours
never got off
the point? The Drummer asked
legends always had a point.
don’t get on a boat.
he laughed and twirled the necklace
un-cut stones glittered in the setting sun
Who would buy?
the Drummer shrugged
absently cut off a Goblin hand
Bring out Your Dead
Bring out Your Dead
no grocery carts for these Goblins.
This is one of eight chapters of Drinks @ the Last Cafe.
You can get a complimentary copy of the entire poem by leaving a helpful review for my new book, Deep Trouble
or for After I’m Buried Alive.
Notify me when you’ve posted the review – cbramkamp (at) gmail (dot) com and I will send you the ebook version along with my sincere thanks.