Neon glow
accented smiles
and clever
talk of
writers and
soft serve
politics.
Barefoot Moscato
philosophers
telling me
about Travon
and I wonder
if all the
ones who still
have hope
and great asses
ever get
the news
anywhere but
Facebook.
One more
bourbon
followed by
one more
beer followed
by one more
heart felt
nod, to justice
and Mother Nature,
and equality
for all.
Finally she asks
to see my place,
and we stop
at the liqour store
on the corner.
I grab a
cardboard
container
of Franzia and
wonder if
the shitty wine
in the
throw-away
box
isn't some kind
of metaphor
for the love
I make.
