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Purgatory
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(Reflections of an ex-bouncer) by
Ironhorse Writer
© 6/17/2003
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Eyes of experience that seem to exude
Leave at the door any attitude
Well earned scars, each with their story
Of this ‘hole in the wall’ dubbed, ‘Purgatory’
They're the cesspool of notoriety
The ‘subculture’ of society
Back alley patrons to which
The world is one big bitch
For they are the outcasts, human debris
‘They’, that others, refuse to see
Yet, there he is, in all his glory
Keeper of the peace, in Purgatory
Those who would test him, safe to suffice
With one stare become those who think twice
Discretion and reason his foremost intention
Within a heartbeat, the center of attention
Ten minutes since the ‘last call’ pour
Rounds up the stragglers, shows ’em the door
Bikers and barflies, boozehounds and bums
Life in this bar is as good as it comes
A ritual unfolds with a click of the lock
There’s tables to wipe, beer to restock
Dwells on the evening as he turns up the lights
‘Slow for a weekend, only four fights’
Looks at the owner who throws him a nod
An arrogant asshole, self appointed God
The irony of which, twixt Heaven and hell
Lies Purgatory, where lost souls dwell
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