<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Last Chorus Girl of the West<\/strong><\/p>\n She is a long way from the old saloon, the self playing piano like a harmonica The drawl\u2019s gone, darlin\u2019 too, stuffed in Her silence is silver, loaded, palm shaped Yet, somehow we let out smiles slip, When we expect nothing, muscles, tendons <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Angela Readman<\/strong>‘s poems have been commended in The Arvon International Poetry Competition, won the Biscuit Competition, Ragged Raven and The Essex Open Poetry Competition.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Last Chorus Girl of the West She is a long way from the old saloon, the boarded windows of Father\u2019s face, the self playing piano like a harmonica in the pocket of a hanging man – still making scraps of songs of the air. The drawl\u2019s gone, darlin\u2019 too, stuffed in a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4645","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4645","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4645"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4645\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4648,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4645\/revisions\/4648"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4645"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4645"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4645"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthe boarded windows of Father\u2019s face,<\/p>\n
\nin the pocket of a hanging man – still
\nmaking scraps of songs of the air.<\/p>\n
\na garter that tied back a dying girl\u2019s hair.<\/p>\n
\n–\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 way too many have died, fallen in.<\/p>\n
\nme and the last chorus girl of the West,
\nthe pianist back, feet without footsteps up n down.<\/p>\n
\nour invisible musician pedals, plays us, a tune.<\/p>\n