By Trudy Osteen Crow
She lies spent, wet,
after a crazy round of neon sex
with “rooms available”
blinking
inside her head.
Blink.
BLINK!
Reaching for a cigarette,
momentarily, she forgets
momentarily, she forgets
that she no longer smokes
‘til her hand returns
from the bedside stand
Holding only emptiness
She wonders,
What the hell!
Had she been drinking?
Earlier? At the bar?
Jose? Patron?
Does it really matter which one?
Throb!
THROB.
Her juices pulse to the beat.
Blink.
BLINK!
Her dull heart thuds
Drumming waves of blood
through her engorged head.
Her body is lead.
Ping.
PING!
Her conscience rings like sonar
sounding depths in an ocean channel
while waves of satisfaction crest
against the beachhead of her pelvic floor.
Darkly,
through the looking-glass,
she sees.
A warm body twined 'round hers
that does not belong
to the matching silver band
like the one which adorns
the third finger of her left hand.
Blink!
BLINK.
A child is born every seven seconds
according to the U.S. Census
A death occurs every thirteen.
How odd.
She thinks
as neon lights
blink!
BLINK.
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