Thick smoke circled the room
in a haze of light and shades
while sex filled the rest with excess.
He inhaled my surplus in a waft,
heaving and wheezing, my neglect
of cheap perfume over funk.
I pour myself a Scotch
while waiting for my 3 o’clock to go.
I got to pee clean my cock
for the next jock, it was after four,
but this trick won’t leave.
He’s wasting my
time on his thin dime,
on the bed, like he ain’t heard.
Another deep pull and I’m ready to blow.
“You got to go!”
He doesn’t move even when I cross the room.
“Hey!” I say.
Then that yellow flow across stain sheets
and recognizable stench.
I down my Scotch, cleaned him out, killed my cig
grabbed my shit and bounce.
Hell yeah, I left him to his dying morning glory.
What? Ain’t shit I can do?
Copyright © 2013 Glynis Rankin