Tonight's Poet Corner: Broken Hound Spot
Broken Hound Spot
by Belinda Roddie
You kept sixteen coonhounds
gnawing at snow at the
Broken Hound Spot, which served
cold tea with hot whiskey and hot
whiskey with cold tea. You made a pretty
penny from the game those furry
bastards peeled from all the trees and
digging burrows in the
Shasta winter, drooling on the old ripened
carcasses. But you made a
fortune on the gold vein.
Twenty-six years later, you've got a
tabby fattening its liver by the
octogenarian stove, and a sighing
clown of a labrador with its tongue on your
shoes, and you couldn't be happier,
you damn fool, drinking cold tea with hot
whiskey and hot whiskey with cold
tea at the Broken Hound Spot every Tuesday.
by Belinda Roddie
You kept sixteen coonhounds
gnawing at snow at the
Broken Hound Spot, which served
cold tea with hot whiskey and hot
whiskey with cold tea. You made a pretty
penny from the game those furry
bastards peeled from all the trees and
digging burrows in the
Shasta winter, drooling on the old ripened
carcasses. But you made a
fortune on the gold vein.
Twenty-six years later, you've got a
tabby fattening its liver by the
octogenarian stove, and a sighing
clown of a labrador with its tongue on your
shoes, and you couldn't be happier,
you damn fool, drinking cold tea with hot
whiskey and hot whiskey with cold
tea at the Broken Hound Spot every Tuesday.
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