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POETRY BY: Ray
Succre Pageant of Drinks Well, I went because
Jim was so excited and he'd gone out and bought
me a ticket. Jack Long Cotter
at the Depot Bay Red Rail Inn. We drove and went
inside. He was singing, jiving around, hitting on the
girls just legal to drink. Some older women, too. Had fat, gold rings on every finger.
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Between each song, this guy in the back would
yell out, "Hey! Play Pageant of Drinks!" And Cotter would
go on with his set, finish another song. "Play Pageant
of Drinks! Come on, man! I came to hear Pageant of
Drinks!" Jack Long Cotter. He looked tired,
caught in a terrarium that burnout status
offered its kidnapped. The band struck
up and played another tune. He wanted
a drink. "Play Pageant of Drinks, man!" Run the wheel.
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Decades had passed
since
that song was a hit. It could have been a hundred years
old. But, most had come to hear it. Most had not heard the other songs, and most wouldn't. "Play Pageant
of Drinks! Play it!" "Be patient,
brother." He said. He played another
song. Then, he waved the band and Jim yelled
"Pageant of Drinks!" and they did Pageant of Drinks. And everyone wore
these big smiles over their weak drinks and some
even drifted off into anesthetic memories,
growing sentimental. It looked like
a deathmarch in there.
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Bio: Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and son. He has been published in Aesthetica, BlazeVOX,
and Pank, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. His novel Tatterdemalion (Cauliay Publishing) was recently
released in print and is available most places. He tries hard.
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