Sometimes she smiles first, asks easy questions
and acts like your responses aren’t ridiculous.
She tilts her **** in your direction, exposes **** rhymes, assonance, and alliteration,
and whispers something
about being free
tomorrow. Alone. Bored. She,
like you, could use
some warmth,
some jokes,
a good
****
Other times, you’re drunk
as ****, and so alone
you need to take your mind off bridges, pills, plastic
bags— the face in the mirror
getting deeper creases than you thought possible. So
you find someone
who looks bored and alone
and say something
awkward, stupid,
not funny—
she doesn’t even look at you.
