Remember The Alamo?

The man with the pencil dick and biro tattoos
wipes up creampie and sweat with his paisley bandana.

A red sequin stetson steams in the shower stall
where he bucked and screamed beneath the blood-warm dribble.

Cigar butts float and unroll in the toilet bowl
as he waits for piss pride to stop waving its flag.

Fucking hell, are those tooth marks? He remembers yelling:
'Hey gringo, chew on the worm from my tequila.'

The way the sheets are rucked, John Wayne could be shacked up
with his horse in a replica Fort Alamo.

There is a hundred dollar bill on the night stand
but who is paying who for what? Fuck knows. He don't.

And the sunrise is a slice of lemon beneath
cocktail umbrellas of cloud in a dirty glass.