The night subsided
into cigarette smoke .'. ,
and neon, . .
branched out in traffic lights,
that dazzled through
the windows of the bars,
made connections with
my dab of aftershave
and a waterfall of women.
One such sat
on a stool up at the bar,
her showy legs
as slippery as her smile,
fingers slowly stirring .
a cocktail,
as her elbows skated
across the beer-stained veneer.
All that hard drinking…
this is why it’s worth iut.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.
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