mixing drinks
by Rex Pryor

    scraping himself
    from the alley way stones
    bruised and beaten
    to a near pulp
    he rose and
    stumbled
    to his waiting car
    ribs aching
    bloody nose
    he knew he
    had spoken too quick
    inside the joint

    as he lowered himself
    into the seat
    preparing to save
    himself and drive
    away
    his ribs felt ripped
    and his head
    throbbed worse
    than any whiskey hangover
    he ever knew
    he promised himself
    to never
    never
    issue that word
    again
    opening such a hell fire
    "faggots"






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