An evening, self-contained.

I saw the blues
through a fogged bar window
and apologized for the hardwood floor.
Whether or not
it flew
was irrelevant.

Drank all the spiced rum
in the joint, switched to Canadian Whiskey.

Tim said Yes so I did:
An old tactic, a cheap trick.
It cost us the monsoon season.

We passed a house
on our sober ride home
where I make the lights stay on
or used to.
(Work's slowing down, you see.)

And all night long
behind a soldered buckle
hollow-points fought
the tension of the spring.