please understand: occasionally you find
nail polish inside a fist.

G. E. Murray

Dirty poor-lit,
listless crowd.
No, I don’t
wear a bra and
don’t ask me
to show you
written back of the bar.
Just one stout couple
swaying off balance
on the dance floor
and the place has lost
its air conditioning
again, no surprise
no upkeep investment
here, but the fajitas
are good, though
weak margaritas, overly
sweet.  Why are all
the sweet things
so weak?  Some secret
there I don’t have,
don’t have operative
for most of my wish list.
Which helps explain
the fist:  why bother
thanking God it’s Friday
if I have to work
on Saturday?  Why do
the hair and nail bit, then
claim I’m not looking?
Must fajitas be the only
meat cooking? 

                   Here’s
the thing for those of us
who want more:  wait
for a prince to knock,
termites will have already
devoured the door.