No One Can Love a Broken Record

For the first time in my life
"Angie" by the Stones
comes on without me dumping
money in the juke.
After realizing Mick's point
I delete her number--
long overdue, with the rice
in her shoes.

When the barkeep
makes eye contact
I halfway raise my left
while downing the Club
with my right. He's pouring
out more whiskey
as the final chorus ends
with a promise and a pleading piano.

As the ice cubes hit my teeth
I make amends with
a twenty-year-old
who got too cocky
without having the knack.
The cocktail slides my way
as I try to tell the difference
between late Winter
and early Spring.

It's tough when you can't
trust the women
who've let you inside them
and worse when you can't
trust yourself
but we don't have those problems
here, this man serving the drinks and I.
(The waitress called him Mike, poor slob.)
We've trued up ancient sums
and I'm about to pay him, too.

It will be a short drive home.
I tip thirty percent
and feel I got off easy
though honestly, when do I not?


Currently reading:
"The Wind Through the Keyhole" by Stephen King.