THE BARTENDER

Once,

He shot himself in the hand

With his little Derringer.

No one has the straight story,

On what actually happened.

White sleeve, blood,

Fake bow tie clipped to his undone collar.

The plastic surgeon,

Stitching him up ,

Told him,

“Keep up the good work”

Selling cocaine,

Stealing wine,

Here and there,

Leaving blow,

For other bartender(s),

That would cover his shifts.

While he was…

What?

Maybe…

Dreaming of someday,

When he would be King.