9:30 P.M. Two Drinks In, At A 3-Star Hotel Bar On Michigan Ave

in Poetry

No thanks.

I like my vice with a modicum of verisimilitude
and rude it may be, but I ain’t sharin’
and it’s not what you’re wearin,’ and I swear,
swearin’ ain’t gonna be helpful.

It’s actually a conversation, you see.
And yes, talk may be cheap, but physicality,
cheaper.

And a peep at your vocabulary suggests a
voluntary nature, but I can lip read past
the lip gloss, that a made-up make-up foreshadows
a heel to fervency … and all the urgency that follows.

And I’ve forced marched through that tumble,
rumble, and jungle before. Often, and a generation ago

But if I hang on, and you wise up, and the spirit is
still willing, beneath your mask lays your true measure,
and I’ve no doubt, it will be absolutely thrilling.

Excuse me, it’s been a pleasure.

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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