Get Three Coffins Ready
In the town San Miguel
men are busy widowing.
The hour knocks, the hammer drops, the padre rings his bell.
.
It’s a gamble, drinking from its sun-bleached well,
when the bodies of brave men go bloating
in the town of San Miguel.
.
Where whiskey and guns are all one can sell,
only murder is worth promoting.
The hour knocks, the hammer drops, the padre rings his bell.
.
After egos begin to swell,
borrachos get to goading.
In the town of San Miguel,
.
this place where snakes and devils dwell,
it wears a thick red coating.
The hour knocks, the hammer drops, the padre rings his bell.
.
At least once a day you can hear the knell--
on account of debt, payback, or drunks showboating.
In the town of San Miguel
the hour knocks, the hammer drops, the padre rings his bell.
About the Creator
Sean
A lover of soft cheese and delayed gratification. I prefer plants to people, more often than not. Dirt is my medicine and filth a form of therapy. Most of these words should find a home among compost but hey, at least I'm still writing.
Comments (1)
I like the poem, is it a villanelle though.