She’s at the bar beside me
trembling and
wiping her eyes
and swaying a little,
brushing against me
with her *******
now and then.

I’ve seen her around.
We’ve talked before.

I’m not bad she says,
I’m not a bad person.
Her fists are clenched
like she’s gonna
throw a punch.

I ask, but she
shakes her head,
shuts her eyes.
I don’t ask again.

I buy her a shot.
She drinks it,
keeps saying
I’m not bad,
I’m a good person,
deep down I’m good.

Her mouth says this
as her mascara runs
and her fists clench.

I light her cigarette
watch it glow
as she *****,
exhales through red lips,
sways on stiletto pumps,
steadies herself
with a hand on my chest,
as I think of what to say
that might help her
back to my apartment.