It was the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.

Pale moonlight reflected in rain-puckered

puddles across the cracked pavement.

I hunched into my grey trench-coat, and wedged

the grey fedora against the sporadic gusts,

quickstepping across to the waiting cab.

 

Joe’s place I said, and the driver grunted in reply,

crunching gears as we splashed down the road.

It was a short ride, so I slipped him a five

and told him to keep the change as I surveyed

the welcoming glow of dim lights that trickled

through the streaked windows of the bar.

 

She was on a stool at the end of the bar,

twizzling an olive in her martini, the red dress

cut so low I could see her breakfast.

The bartender brought a shot glass as I sat down,

slopping the JD in without needing to ask.

Leave the bottle I said, it’s been a rough day.

 

Did ya find him Sam, she asked through

hooded eyes, a quaver in her voice.

I found him I replied, he’s moved in

with Rita over on the south side. She

tried to speak, but no words came out

at first, and she took a deep breath.

 

The dirty bum she whispered, I shoulda known.

Let me buy you a drink I said, then

I’ll walk you home. No thanks, she replied,

I’m outta here. I poured another drink

as she left, just another broken heart

at the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.