She
Never Smiles Tiny, thin, long curly brown
hair, full lips, lush eyebrows. You smile when she brings you drinks, she
never smiles, never. You had this little essay in a
local weekly, said essay featured a photo of you from high school. She looked
at it, said: You were cute. You
chatted and drank, fronted your best front, but the word WERE was ringing,
ringing, ringing. She never smiles, never. There
was this Sunday when you could not, would not, sleep. Bike to the bar, what
the fuck beats staring into the dark or at the TV. She's working. You sit
next to some white chicks, halters and freckles, cowboy hats. Cowboy hats on
girls are hot. But your eyes drift behind the bar. She never smiles, never. It's
ten minutes to close and you're ready to slide off home to contemplate
Monday. She looks right at you, smiles. Glorious. Not just her mouth but her
eyes. Her eyebrows raise, she's smiling, she says: one more? |
[Exiled
on Main Street #40][Home]