Choices at the Cantina

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Out west is the cantina
And a bridge crosses the canyon
To the swinging doors
And pricking cacti.
There’s water enough for the horses
Hitched near the trough,
But inside is only the gift
Of humor, of stupor, or rage.
Pick your poison, but choose wisely.
I’ll take the clown in the corner
Who has everyone in stitches
As he struggles to keep his hat on
And tell a few tall tales.
The stupor can fly out to the coast.
Let’s stay aware in our laughter.
To hell with unholy rage,
As it does nothing but
Suck away the nourishment from joy.
And, after we’ve drained our cup,
Only enough to feel a small flee
From pains of reality,
It’s back across the bridge we go.