Of course, there was a time you didn’t always get your way. Back there when my heart was not so easy to invade.”
Tori Amos
“Hey Gorgeous,
can I get your number?”
We’d been raising armies of wit
all evening,
shots of something citrus fired,
unruly curls deployed as a decoy.
“Got a pen?”
I uncapped it with barred teeth
and scribbled beneath
Paynes: better off here
than across the street,
the dive bar napkin reads
with cheeky courthouse avoidance instinct.
#1 was all I wrote, the next battle
cry in my throat.
Anchors away;
retreat isn’t always defeat.
The dance floor’s where young girls
find their fleet.
Saw you years later,
cocktail lounge subdued.
Goatee, that was new.
You said, “Hey, I think I know you.
The chick who gave me the #1.”
“Like the middle finger.”
I laughed lifting mine,
a loaded gun. “Glad it stung.”
We gave our cigarettes a flick,
toasted the things that stick,
the calvary of age and
the tactics of our wild ways.
© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved
Photograph of Paynes Biker Bar
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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