I met her in a smoke filled room
in the cold of December;
she pushed me on the bed –
promised an evening I’d remember.
But she had to leave me zipped –
said I was one of those kinds;
who just can’t get the women they love
off their minds.
So she passed on to me a bottle –
cheap, locally brewed beer, it said;
I drank it off in a gulp or two
put on my shoes, and got off from the bed.
And thus, another day would pass,
and I’d walk back home, alone;
sending her letters that she never reads;
numerous missed calls on her phone.