At The Rigel Five, Hey It's Alive, Saloon
by Nancy Wilcox
Im thinking of drinking when Sally struts in,
her spike-heels ringing,
her rear-guard swinging,
and I blink at her devil grin.
Now Sals my best pal and I like her a lot,
but she puts on a show,
with her bounce and her glow.
Dont think she dont know what shes got.
Hey Boozer, you loser! she squeals in my face.
Did you look at the boards?
Were signed with Sigords-
were running the Ganymede race!
Half the bar, mouth ajar, is still fixed on her hips;
but I aint so randy
for human-type candy,
and I dont like the name she let slip.
That aint funny, honey! I whine. Then I sigh,
Sigords a rat-trap,
one step up from scrap.
Well have to glue wings on to fly.
Well run suited and booted; they wont pop for air.
Half the crews tin,
there wont be no gin.
I cant survive sober out there!
Jeez, such a wheeze, she laughs at my frown.
Like you could refuse it.
You know, win or lose it,
you aint gonna stay on the ground.
Now Sals no think-link, but she sees through my talk.
Me? Hang on dirtside?
Id end up stir-fried.
Id rather suck vacuum than walk.
Poem © 2002 by by Nancy Wilcox firstname.lastname@example.org
Artwork © 2002 by Ehrad email@example.com
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