apocalyptic aftershave

in the midst of making merry

fruity drinks and skewered cherries

i walk in, order a gin

and suddenly become the trend

 

as you engage me with a word

so we can gather into verbs

i didn’t think more than a drink

would be my night amid the blinks

 

but there you were touching my arm

and cooing with your cultured charms

i wasn’t tasked or even asked

to linger there without a mask

 

but something sitting in my skull

found everything about you dull

without construct and quite abrupt

i paid my tab to interrupt

 

i didn’t nod or even smile

treated your words as a turnstile

jumped over bereft of tokens

i get bored when words are spoken

 

***