In every sequel to the barstool sits an evening philosopher
chugging beer and crisps dreaming of a damsel
in distress to recue and carry over the raging waters
of a lonely evening. The froth in the next glass
confirms the frenzy of waiting patiently.

I suspect beer drinkers are adept at making plans
to snare the right woman with catchy bylines
and brisk one-liners. Mostly recycled ones work well.

How easily some evade the trap and the cobweb,
sticky as it may seem to, draw the best ****** ones
into the nectar laden larder of niceties.

They have their  own connecting sentences
which, safely guarded, like intellectual property
gets them zooming into a net of naughtiness.

Author Notes
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© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.