Montgomery Slyde entered
every room as if it were a courtroom,
his shoes rehearsing
arguments against the floorboards.
He wore his grin
like a counterfeit medal,
polished daily, but prone
to tarnish under close inspection.
His pockets rattled
with IOUs and bottle caps,
souvenirs of victories
no one else remembered.
Yet in the tavern’s dim light
he could spin a tale so fast
the rafters leaned in,
and even the doubters
paid their silence as tribute.
Montgomery Slyde—
a man forever balancing
on the thin rail between
bravado and collapse,
still somehow managing
to tip his hat before the fall.