by Mike Burke
Killing time before my ex-girlfriend’s wake
I went to the bar down the street
to pound down a couple of boilermakers.
The barmaid was wearing tight, faded low-riders
and a deep v-neck sweater
with TROUBLE printed across her breasts.
When she bent into the cooler
her sweater would ride up
and expose a tattoo on the small of her back.
She used to be like that, too
blond, pretty, sexy
even had a tattoo there
Harley Davidson wings.
Now she’s stone cold dead
lying in a coffin up the street,
in her least favorite dress
eyelids and lips glued shut
surrounded by satin and flowers.
At least I know where she’ll be tonight
and I won’t be praying for the phone to ring.
~
Mike Burke is a snowbird who winters in St. Augustine, Florida and summers at Thompson Lake. He started writing poetry decades ago to fulfill the last remaining credits in order to graduate from Russel Sage College in 1993 with a BA in English after 26 years (The 26 years included a number of extended Spring Breaks).
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