A Thirst That Never Dies

He nurses a warm whiskey and a hard-on

for anything that still has a pulse. She slides

onto the stool next to him at the end of the bar,

her perfume more potent than regret

They talk— his wife doesn’t know him,

she says her boyfriend’s out of town again.

They know the script well, rehearse their moves,

her lips tastes like whiskey and revenge

he pushes her against the bathroom stall,

both finish with an O, she leaves, he returns home

and crawls in beside his sleeping wife

smelling of smoke and stale sex

kisses her forehead with the same mouth

that just ate another man’s woman.

Tomorrow— different bar, different parlor snake,

different polyester suits from another era.