A Poem by Coyote Poetry
The good days are not forgotten.
I was passing time. Waiting for no-one in a dark Monterey tavern in 1992.
Sipping the Black Velvet whiskey. Listening to Hank William Jr. sing.
“Why do we drink? Why do we get high? Because it is family tradition.”
Pretty Kentucky girl lost in California asked for the free seat.
I told her. Please sit and tell me a story.
She smiled. Asked what was I drinking?
I told her some Black Velvet today. Trying to bring back something lost
and can’t be found.
Her smile disappeared and she told me.
“Something shouldn’t be found again. Few second chances turn to gold.
Hope bury in shit can be rebirth.”
I told her I like her.
Allow me to…
View original post 175 more words