A Sleuth and Consensual Sodomy

The drink's served
before I settle into the stool
whether or not that's admirable
or implies a lack of discernment.
Three later, after dodging several faces
I notice a moth
the diameter of Washington's familiar likeness
circling erratically two inches off the light strip
that encompasses the ceiling's circumference.
Its limited path makes it seem
as though it's tethered to the wall.
The empathy passes
like women en route to the restroom
and I resist the urge
to buy a bug a drink.

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