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March |
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a poem by Trevor Mitchell (2 of 2)
A Comparative Study: Death Vs. Sex
The bar is busy.
Too busy.
I should leave
but there
isn't anywhere else
I need to be.
She comes over
and stands next to me
leaning against my arm
more than she needs to
and as she orders her drink
her mouth is as grasping
as night,
her voice more grating
than church bells
on a Sunday morning
hangover.
I turn to give her
the once-over
she's waiting for
but the music
is too loud, the
people are too stupid
and really, she's just a
corpse in a cocktail dress
and suddenly,
like a cheap lipstick
poorly applied,
the taste of wine
and death
has grown bitter
on my lips.
Too busy.
I should leave
but there
isn't anywhere else
I need to be.
and stands next to me
leaning against my arm
more than she needs to
and as she orders her drink
her mouth is as grasping
as night,
her voice more grating
than church bells
on a Sunday morning
hangover.
the once-over
she's waiting for
but the music
is too loud, the
people are too stupid
and really, she's just a
corpse in a cocktail dress
and suddenly,
like a cheap lipstick
poorly applied,
the taste of wine
and death
has grown bitter
on my lips.
© by Trevor Mitchell
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #8 ~ March 2010
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