Whiskey Faces

There are horses, there are barmaids 

And faces of the clock

There is whiskey and plates

of beans and rice and a roaring fire

for those just come in out of the cold.

The animals are indoors a room away

In the high New Mexico desert

Named for the blood of Christ.

We can smell their warmth through the walls.

Beef and beans and potatoes

for those who can afford it.

Whiskey whether they can or not.