Later Leah Jesus Damn
A long day and it’s one hour past its due.
two minutes Leah
Don’t mind St. Paul, its venusian light and tintinnabulations have
Descended into a distracted blur, irretrievable until after close,
When the door will open to its airy lanes. Come what will,
Three o’clock will come, for wingtips to scuff a starch of snow.
hello Conor welcome back
Don’t mind Paul, he’s again afraid he will be fired,
Descended into a distracted blur, berserking tables
With a washrag, his face turned with that hyperactive
Animation he supplies almost monthly. Panic’s almost droll
When it is made so dull. Ultimately, he will reconstitute, but for now
He doesn’t dare look at Ulysses, who is false, granted,
And shame-tacked by four red pins to the placard by the till.
An example taught, an unacceptable acceptance made taut.
Shifty fifty, fake Ulysses. Some places frame first purchases.
why pin up pride Paul
when there are lessons to be taught
at The Ballyhoo
Chafe—the apron surrounds like a judgment, its strap insinuating,
Provoking its course into patrilinealish hips—eyes and dreams
Of hands do dare as much, examine your form like a scantron.
Bitten lips. Five dollars, six dollars, seven—chalk-scribbled,
The going rate for nips—hovers lucky, holy, surly, over, near.
hey Jordie long time no see
my man what kept ye
Just lean in close at the server’s nook and keep your secret true.
Pink nails, french tips—tilt them totems to, take a tally
One two three four—
regulars Leah
Maybe next time paint them Prussian blue. Caplets between
Fingerprints. Got water? Try to relax, breathe it on through.
Five six seven eight—Just an hour past due. Collect another breath,
Or a you. The 9 pm estrogen lilts at 10,
Smudged with damn good Revlon one past a damn good uvula,
Two the anti-androgen three the Tylenol four
you can count your tips
later Leah Jesus damn
Moon’s out the window, right on cue. You’ll fly home on wings,
As you do.