Last Call Blues

nobody smiles for real at 2 a. m.
they mostly stare into nowhere
behind the crystal ball
of a near empty drink
gaunt gypsy faces
telling their alley tales
front-page personals
read proudly aloud
to broken hearts
beating on bleeding sleeves
while a methamp paranoid
extraterrestrial paramedic
out to recover bodies
from the crash of a Roswell
weather balloon
hits hard on the
Devil with a Blue Dress
Cadillac college girl
with firm bullet bumpers
and a tight leggy ass
twirling her pearls and
smiling at the corner
where an old poet scribbler
sits savoring a Camel
sipping his poison
and wondering why
she always goes home
alone

© WFS 2004 Used here by permission.