Happy Hour – hour FIVE

Knitting together thoughts found in

other people’s hardback novels,

wine glass poised as if to say,

“Oh! Not me, dear!”

 

And in that small insufferable space

I wonder how the hell I

said yes to happy hour

when I know you only drink white

 

and the oak-infused chardonnay you’ve ordered

is rooty enough to make

the pavement split.

One thought on “Happy Hour – hour FIVE

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