Preacher Allgood

box cars on the bar top

when the dice flop out of the cup
across a bar top that’s older than sin 
and you look down on five beautiful sixes
you catch a rare win
for a jackass interloper 
in a world full of sharks

you’re just a small time punk
from a nowhere town
born with a useless gift for words
wins and triumphs don’t figure in your life 

and all those box cars on the bar top
don’t mean your lot has changed for the better
the hundred bucks you won will disappear
when you get mugged in the alley
on the way back to your motel room

that notebook of defiant poems in your pocket 
won’t save your bumpkin ass

but it’s still fun to revel in a win 
and a joy to fuck with the local destiny
by leaving the c-note
tacked under the bar with a wad of gum

if you survive the robbery 
you can sneak it out tomorrow
just before the Trailways bus pulls out of town

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