After several knocks
I opened the stall door
and there she sat,
folded in half and snoring,
head on her knees,
jeans and *******
pulled down to her ankles,
oblivious to the gift
her boyfriend had left
after unsuccessfully trying
to wake her:

a single red rose
in a vase at her feet.

From behind the bar
I'd seen her stagger
into the bathroom.
He'd run to the store
after asking if I'd watch her
while he was gone.

She was a working girl
he'd rescued from one of the brothels,
and they were getting married soon,
but he was uncertain...

He'd returned proudly
with the flower,
asked where she was,
and I pointed.

A few minutes later
he'd walked out,
said she'll probably
come around soon,
tell her I'm at that bar
across the street.

He'd gone out the door,
and here I stood,
in a women's bathroom stall,
me and the shadow
between her thighs,
and the rose,
and several petals
it had dropped
on the ***** tile floor.

I sighed, bent down,
picked up the vase
with one hand,
touched her shoulder
with the other,
and gently shook her
until she stirred.