jackie sullivan


drove his rig into town
2 wednesday's a month
like clockwork

he would swagger
into the bar like a man who
had watched every John Wayne
movie ever made

he stood about 6 foot 6
and had a tendency to dress in black

they kept a bottle of Old Granddad
in stock just for him
usually he would drink most of it
by last call

it didn't take more than a highball
or two
before he'd start in with the
"gimme a hug darlin"
and the
"come sit here a minute"
as he slapped his hand on his knee

he was always trying to
put his hands on the ladies
used to bug the shit out of me

but with cowboy
you could say "hey
keep your goddamned hands off me"
he'd pout for a minute and come back with
"i'm sorry darlin...gimme a hug"

he pissed me off
that's probably why i liked him

he referred to his wife as
the ol' bitch
he showed off pictures
of his 3 kids
and of course
he talked about his dog

the old bastard even liked to read my poems

i'd been fighting a drunk driving ticket
for the last 6 months or so
and the first thing he always did
even before he got his first drink of the evening
was to ask how "it" was going

i never got to tell him how it came out

it seems
a week after i saw him last
he died

he climbed up
into his rig
after a night of steak
and whiskey
and trying to score
and had a goddamned heart attack

i'll bet my ass that he died with his boots on