She whispers, coos in vodka-laced tones,
Calm and soothing. I've had a few too many.
Her cigarette dangles; she uses puffs for punctuation,
Musky breath floating to me, she calls for another drink
And one for me, too.
Her phone dances inside her purse,
She reaches, and I watch her fingers ballet across its keypad.
She slides from the barstool next to me, gulps her drink.
Bends over a little too long to gather her things.
And I check her out as she goes,
As close to her as I ever get.
David Colodney studies poetry and creative writing in the MFA program at Converse College, and serves as assistant poetry editor of the South 85 literary journal. He has written for The Miami Herald and The Tampa Tribune, and his poetry has previously appeared on Egg. He lives in Boynton Beach, Florida, with his wife, three sons, and golden retriever.