One January

Published January 10, 2014 by April Fox

You kissed me once, in a bar
before you played
I drank the whiskey from your breath and
your hand crept up a little higher
than it should have
in such polite and refined
company
and I remembered then
why I don’t drink rum
and why I do

And I watched the cheap girls watching you
painted them in black ink on lined paper-
wasted smiles and infant voices
lead feet, singing bee girl songs
without the tact and grace
they should have packed
in thrift-store satchels
with their tampons and their
hopeful
next-day
underwear

On the drive home we were silent
letting Leonard Cohen speak and in the early morning
January
couldn’t even breathe.

1525212_794072083953184_768202588_n

3 comments on “One January

  • Leave a Reply

    Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

    WordPress.com Logo

    You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

    Twitter picture

    You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

    Facebook photo

    You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

    Google+ photo

    You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

    Connecting to %s

    %d bloggers like this: