I can’t stop looking at you, can I buy you a drink?

~

on a stool at the bar

a foxy woman, solitary

older, alone in a dark corner

drinking straight bourbon, heavily

staring blankly down at the counter

conversations offered ending unhappily

perhaps I could and should have ignored her

I knew it could only end in one way

her bad memories, bitter tears

but gently I lead her away

carefully to my car

where she vomited, noisily, messily

the fox confirmed my worst fears

but later I still had my way

~

jack collier

jackcollier7@talktalk.net

wealth, foxy women, and too much wine

can make anything happen in this life

(the poetic form is a bastardized Rondeau)