I’m glad I’m not single

The smell of American Spirits hits me

before i round the corner with my puppy and see him

all blonde and clean and well dressed in a gray sweater

blue jeans, boots, and a winter hat – his blue eyes

glitter up at me from the brick wall he is leaning against

it might as well be a gutter, that’s the kind of alley he’s in

drinking out of a brown bag and smoking but i can’t help myself

before i say “Hello, how are you,” even though it’s dark

in part because he’s crouched down lower than me

and in part because he is shining

there is something about a lone gutter punk

i find so attractive – i would love to stroke his hands

lean in for a sloppy kiss and laugh and dance

under the moonlit streets then he says, “i know you

and your little dog, too. I’m your neighbor’s friend

don’t you remember me?” And I’m glad I’m not single

because i am thirsty and the liquor store is closing

and i have half a mind to crouch right next to him

and have one of us wake up in some strange apartment

scurrying to leave, wondering about which tests

we should be taking, both of us embarrassed

questioning whether we’ll see each other again

until we do the very next weekend at some party

because (surprise!) we’re both alcoholics

Instead, I can bid him good night keep on walking

 

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