Winnie the Publican
...wore a mile the length of a rug through the back irons of what passes for infamy in this sod of a place. That late Winnie stepped fluidly past the dankers' mews and crubicle taps, intending to speak anger upon graftling Luc Lapine. Mumbles and grumbles pass between Luc and shadowy mates, echo in their ebbing glazes, betray intentions.
".....Mmrmnrmnr parking rmnrmrn keys nmrmnr seat rnmnrmnrm drive rmnmrnrm house nrmrnmnm rack nmrnrmr nothing to it."
"Out out out" Winnie whoops. Agrasp the grumblers' collars, she bumbrushes the bunguliers splatch out the mews and crack in the aisle.
"What what what" woes Luc. He casts a glance at the stained-glass panes. "What kinda church that roughs up the clientele, anyhow?"
"Church went outta business," says Winnie as she boots the bonglers down the aisle toward the front double doors. "Bar's for human beens."
Scruffled out the doors, the bobblers pry their coats off their tates and doofus to their feet. Rubbing his bumps, Luc gets his next stupid idea.
Half-hour later guy comes into Winnie's and says "Garbage can's on fire" like it was "There's a stain on your gopher."
Everybody in the place runs out to admire the flaming garbage, except Winnie, who reaches for her kedgel and waits for Luc and his pals. Just like that, Luc and crew plop in the door. Luc holds a rusty iron and the others various pointy utensils.
Winnie jumps over the communion rail, screes down the aisle, and aims the kedgel at Luc's forehead. Luc stands his ground; cohorts split. When the kedgel is a blip away from his forehead, Luc dives down the back mews and ends-around for the cashbox in the tabernacle. Winnie rips down the center aisle apace of Luc as he scrips down the sideway. Luc wins to the altar. Winnie closes.
Just when it looks bleak for Luc, through the door come cohorts and a half-dozen more bumbling grumblers, all promised free booze at Winnie's expanse. Luc stands at the altar, smiling like a bishop. The grumblers bumble for the liquor. Before Luc can crack the tabernacle, Winnie tosses the kedgel and hits the closest bombler smack in the tope. She wheels Luc around like a carnival ride. Luc whiffles out the sanctuary and splatches into the grumblers like they're bowling pins. Winnie retrieves her kedgel and stamples upon the pile.
The garbage burned out, the diverted fateful trounce and trumble back into the bar, only to witness Winnie kedgling Luc and the grumblers down and out the front steps. She stands in the doorway like marble, chastigating the idolators.
The feintful coagulating at Winnie's file past Luc's tumbled grumblers to find Luc's original co-conspiring cohorts, smiling broadly as they cradle half-empty bottles nabbed from behind the rail. Winnie snatches a cohort's bottle, takes a glass down from the pulpit, and pours him a drink. Tears of abdication scheming down his face, cohort blurbles an ax of constriction, to whittle: "To Winnie, undaring frailty."
Services nightly, Winnie detects the uncomfortable and bestews the consolidated.
".....Mmrmnrmnr parking rmnrmrn keys nmrmnr seat rnmnrmnrm drive rmnmrnrm house nrmrnmnm rack nmrnrmr nothing to it."
"Out out out" Winnie whoops. Agrasp the grumblers' collars, she bumbrushes the bunguliers splatch out the mews and crack in the aisle.
"What what what" woes Luc. He casts a glance at the stained-glass panes. "What kinda church that roughs up the clientele, anyhow?"
"Church went outta business," says Winnie as she boots the bonglers down the aisle toward the front double doors. "Bar's for human beens."
Scruffled out the doors, the bobblers pry their coats off their tates and doofus to their feet. Rubbing his bumps, Luc gets his next stupid idea.
Half-hour later guy comes into Winnie's and says "Garbage can's on fire" like it was "There's a stain on your gopher."
Everybody in the place runs out to admire the flaming garbage, except Winnie, who reaches for her kedgel and waits for Luc and his pals. Just like that, Luc and crew plop in the door. Luc holds a rusty iron and the others various pointy utensils.
Winnie jumps over the communion rail, screes down the aisle, and aims the kedgel at Luc's forehead. Luc stands his ground; cohorts split. When the kedgel is a blip away from his forehead, Luc dives down the back mews and ends-around for the cashbox in the tabernacle. Winnie rips down the center aisle apace of Luc as he scrips down the sideway. Luc wins to the altar. Winnie closes.
Just when it looks bleak for Luc, through the door come cohorts and a half-dozen more bumbling grumblers, all promised free booze at Winnie's expanse. Luc stands at the altar, smiling like a bishop. The grumblers bumble for the liquor. Before Luc can crack the tabernacle, Winnie tosses the kedgel and hits the closest bombler smack in the tope. She wheels Luc around like a carnival ride. Luc whiffles out the sanctuary and splatches into the grumblers like they're bowling pins. Winnie retrieves her kedgel and stamples upon the pile.
The garbage burned out, the diverted fateful trounce and trumble back into the bar, only to witness Winnie kedgling Luc and the grumblers down and out the front steps. She stands in the doorway like marble, chastigating the idolators.
The feintful coagulating at Winnie's file past Luc's tumbled grumblers to find Luc's original co-conspiring cohorts, smiling broadly as they cradle half-empty bottles nabbed from behind the rail. Winnie snatches a cohort's bottle, takes a glass down from the pulpit, and pours him a drink. Tears of abdication scheming down his face, cohort blurbles an ax of constriction, to whittle: "To Winnie, undaring frailty."
Services nightly, Winnie detects the uncomfortable and bestews the consolidated.
Copyright 2020 by Dennis Richard O'Reilly -- all rights reserved
