The Snow Is Hard in Pampa, Texas

Jesse Doiron

September 8, 2021

When they were done with me,

they rolled me over to a roadside ditch

and left me in the snow to die, and so I did, 

alone and cold and slow enough to have  

some time to think about what happened 

when I told you I’d be back 

as soon as I was done, and rolled a cigarette, 

tight and long, and left you in the bar to make

your way back home that night all by yourself, 

where you stayed up, wondering why I left

when you weren’t even through,

still in your heels and thong, rock’n and roll’n 

and looking lonely as hell on the long wet bar,

where all the empty glasses made it hard 

to dance your last time up without a top on,

when drunks were done with tips,

and all the high-roll businessmen were gone,

and the only other girl was in the corner

grinding long and hard on some old guy who 

felt lucky as hell to be under her, getting off

when the bar was closing down – 

after hours – I left, before your last time up, 

to get the stuff, and they did it hard on me, 

rolled me to a ditch, left me there to die –

alone – in the snow outside of Pampa.