and the jukebox played “mack the knife”

by Steven J. Serafiani

sat down at a horseshoe of worn oak
coasters cradling crafts and cosmos,
my unruly neighbors
flipped a box of matches in my hand
but I’m not here to fidget the night away
gave the overweight bartender a nod
he poured it neat

“No, no, a double and get that brunette down there whatever she’s drinking.”

spotted her as soon as my loafer clacked on tile
Max delivered-
I decided to name this nameless bartender,
Max delivered what appeared to be a
gimlet over to the porcelain skin gauntlet
he pointed his stubby finger towards me
her hair shifted with her neck
the curiosity pose,
I pulled the straw out of my glencairn
blasphemy I said quietly
took a sip and walked over to her,

“Thanks for the drink handsome. What’s your name?”

“I’m knight and I want you to be my shining armor.”

“You have kind eyes.”

“Past tense maybe. Listen, if I stand here any longer and gorge myself in your gorgeousness I might get gored. This isn’t a matter of wordplay darling. See the clock’s running and I’m not talking about your biology. It’s running and we both know where to. It’s not going to be as pretty as what you see in the mirror and it’s not going to be my eyes; with what word did you describe? Oh yes kind. So where were we? How about not here.”

her eyes now an elevator
ten seconds later she grabbed her purse
put her hand in mine and
as we glided past Max,
I gave him a tip,
“Lose the straws.”

heel and loafer coupled to the pavement.

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