Monday 5 November 2018

2 Poems by Larry Rogers

Sipping a Bud in the He’s Not Here Club

It made the cowboys nervous

when the cowgirls began

dancing with each other;

there were so many cowboys

willing and available.

When the cowgirls persisted

the cowboys became morose.

Even today many sit bitterly alone

or simply dumbfounded

in dimly-lit roadhouses


Every so often a certain expression

will creep or romp across her face

revealing something else about her

that she doesn’t want known. “It’s

what you get for harboring so many

secrets,” he good-naturedly chides.

“Someday, like those dancers at the Gentleman’s

Club, you’ll be totally exposed.” “That

isn’t funny and neither is this,” she advises,

sweeping up the pieces of a favorite vase

he knocked over tiptoeing in earlier this morning.

“You break everything you touch,” she tells him.

But when he touches her later she appears to remain intact.


Larry Rogers is a singer/songwriter. Growing up, he lived for a while in Berkeley and Compton, California, but was mostly raised in a potting shed trailer in the piney woods of west central Arkansas--a sanctuary for moonshiners, marijuana growers, and merry (and not-so-merry) pranksters. His poems and stories have appeared in Misfit, Hanging Loose, Nerve Cowboy, Pearl, Rattle, Wormwood Review, and The Denver Post. He lives with his wife in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

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