An older woman at the bar,
danced alone near the jukebox.
Eyes closed, she swayed her hips
to some kind of old school jazz.
Cigarette smoke hovered around her
on the makeshift dance floor.
The smoke contoured to her body,
it clung to her reckless past.
The chain-smoking drunkards
hollered and giggled as cowards.
One of them would **** her
before the night ended.
All I could do was watch
and write this poem
in my mind.

-Ron Gavalik