(unknown photo credits)
Fanny, come and sit with me,
I'm lowly lone inside.
I've brushed the dust off my jeans,
I'm needing to confide.
There's money in my pocket,
a bottle in my hand.
Take me to your room upstairs,
into your promised land.
She twirls her skirts, she smiles but hurts,
she's bed this man before.
He reeks of coal, dim eyes, dim soul,
though she leads 'cross the floor.
"It's money first, then quench my thirst",
she says with backward glance.
"Five bills to sin, I fancy gin,
Four bits will get a dance."
Fanny, won't you marry me?
Let's leave this town behind.
There's grass out there for cattle
where no coal needs be mined.
I chased the queen with aces
and won the final hand.
Lady Luck smiled down on me;
let's run off like I planned.
Inside she yearns, a hunger burns
for life outside this tomb.
Consumed by fear, she draws him near,
then leads him to her room.
The darkness hides the tears she cries
as well as her buck knife.
She sinks it deep soon's he's asleep;
so ends another life.
Fanny, check his pockets, love,
I think he's got some cash.
He played his cards, took the pot,
let's add it to our stash.
He's just another miner,
still stinks from old coal tar.
Take his money, let's run off
and sell this goddamn bar.
She paints her face to hide the trace
of guilt that lingers on,
then lights a smoke as if to choke
the coming of the dawn.
But morning's sun revealed what's done
at Fanny Mae's Saloon.
Though Fanny and her barman
had left before the moon.
And so it's told, her blood ran cold
as ever ice did freeze.
Poor Fanny Mae soon passed away
from venereal disease.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
This is a great poem!! Seriously. One of the best I've read all year!! Write on Poet, your quill is going places... 
thank you kindly for this laugh and i will wonder on back...
Now, that's what I call a saloon girl gone bad....I enjoyed this tawdry tale, cowboy...very very much. Thank you.
