Monday, May 15, 2017

The Club

Outside cinder blocks loiter,

sometimes hold the door, if

the day is hot enough.

A cue ball always crashing

into a racked set, interjecting

the jukebox soundtrack.

I reapply, the cherry lip gloss

that stains the butt of my cigarette.

Marvel versus Capcom takes the

quarters from my purse. Boredom robs

another buck to hear something

other than “The Joker” for fifteen

minutes. Tour the bar stools to find

the one that spins the most.

The world vanishes in wisps.

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