Someone Else’s Reunion

Not really my type

Kind of fat

And the song we’re dancing to goes

It’s all coming back to me now!

At ten miles an hour from the seventies

I am lightly drunk and she is sufficiently inebriated

Talking about how she needs to get laid

But when I say, “Shit, I’m right HERE!”

She pretends to ignore it over the music

And eyeballs the Indian looking dude to the left

Which is just as well because she’s

Not really my type

Kind of fat

And the song we’re dancing to concludes

Mercifully

And I step back to the table to

Nurse my dirty martini and pray

Outside in the desert the women talk about the past

I sniff and wish it weren’t ninety degrees at night

Or ninety degrees forever, for that matter

I’m too full of shitty hotel roast beef

The reunion isn’t even mine

I’m not evidently getting laid

But when she leaves she gives me one quiet look back

And I think

God damn, you should have spoken up

But about that time I’m being brought the tab

And it’s normal people’s bedtime

So I have to get sober and to the car

Out on the tarmac, I look around

But she’s gone for ten years

Never to return