Four Leaf Clover Bar
David S. Pointer
I turned a thousand
generations
of coffin lid screws
searching
for her, hoping to pull out
her
death stake, but tonight
green
beer law enforcement boys are
coming down hard as an old
Prohibition hatchet over the
keg barrels, swarming the
bar,
the entire city party block --
fang swordplay would be
highly appropriate and give
this Chi-town city a St.
Patty’s
Day massacre they could be
famous for, yet I feel the
nocturnal need to remain
a thirsty, silent, inactive
throat solider digging
ever closer to her red
burial remains rising
towards a new-melt
like mourners candles
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