Devil’s Elbow

brewing
The night I saw her at The Devil’s Elbow
the tramp in the square’s twilight terrors
split the night’s soft toddle of music from Chambar.
It was the kind of bar, I thought as I trundled past,
where you were supposed to meet someone like her.
And it was one of those nights, too.
A night known to poets and soldiers alike
in troubled nights of pacing paneled floors
or waiting in the barracks.
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