I Used to Play in Bands
There were always
sad women, striped socks, tattoos, the names of ex-husbands, strained against low cotton tops. Their dates leaned on their ladies, or dollar pitchers, shared smokes in the halo of second chances, and there I was, naked behind a velum of incandescent laughter. The crowd, unaware, thinned, pushed through carved doors out into the chorus of sirens and car horns, and necked beneath the neon, leaving me to pick up half-smoked cigarettes, to inspect for lipstick, to feel my tongue flick against the filter and ignite. ~ Originally appeared in The Hawaii Pacific Review |