Maggie's Revision

nobody thought that chesco flaski

would be getting any thigh

the night the marlboro inn

turned into a charred mess

before the stunned eyes

of last callers

after maggie mcbrigid threw

johnny cash's bird

in his face as she saddled into

her banana mustang just as

piss-spray off a stray cloud began

to pimple the windshield

in the gravel parking lot where

the shine of a lone lamp pole

fell on her bottle-crimson hair

flagging out the window

as she crushed the petal

compelling treaded hooves to reject

those tiny stones in salvos

of immoral grenade shrapnel

chipping at the onlookers

gawking off the patio deck

her actions only served to cement

rumors that her inflamed locks

had somehow ignited the wooden structure

by expelling hell's sole fury

and sparking small town legend as the

sky suddenly gushed loose on freak fire