Girl At The Bar
She traced her lips with a bright red
pencil and i couldn't take my eyes off
of her, like a child watching fire.
Like my father watching a car chase on
television. Like my mother watching Oprah.
i kept on staring and didn't care if she
caught me because i was mesmerized, by the
simple movement of a point on flesh, and i knew
if i didn't move fast i'd miss my shot at
greatness, but the bartender just poured me
a new tonic and my seat is warm, and just like
Oprah, i know there will be another show tomorrow.
With another shot at greatness, or at least
a chance at being a sharp point on
some pretty girls lips.