Nick's Cowboy Bar

black and white
cowboy hats,
and snakeskin boots,
the big trucks
with american flag
decals, spit
polished bumpers
high on their
wheels parked
sideways
out front,
and jeans
so tight
they look
painted on
and string
ties and
white dresses,
with ribbons
and bows,
cut off shorts
and plaid shirts,
a loud garage band
with a twang,
drinking while
they play.
beards and mustaches,
girls with big hair.
and the place
smells of beer
of rum and coke,
and fried
food, as the crowd
dances in
set lines, clicking
their heels, clapping
their hands in
unison, and spinning,
dipping into a tin
of chew, a little
doesy doe here,
and a howdy mamm there
under a sagging
string of scattered
party lights.
get along little
doggies. yee haw.
and when the
band plays a drum
roll then strikes up
the star spangled
banner, everyone
stands silently,
facing the stage
with sombered respect,
they take off their
hats and put their
hands on their
hearts. twenty
minutes from dc.
seven dollar cover.
bring a friend.