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you know it's been a long tough night
when your skin is flaking off
and
you sit
starkly lit in the bathroom
peeling back layers of your foot
wondering what it was
that made her look your way
she was a good-looking girl
not too tall, with
faux-black hair and a smile
Cheshire catlike
left hanging in your memory
long after she turned
and then returning
a half-second before
she looked up
you'd seen her before
slinging coffee
or maybe walking in the opposite direction
you thought she might be made of lodestone
or something suitably ferrous
as your head shifted,
swiveled and settled
snapping back to the task at hand
upon passing through her wake
you know it's been a long tough night
as you prepare to shake
hands with three AM
knuckles cracked and bleeding
while you stand
staring out the window
the beat-up Ford across the street
flipping between first and reverse
wriggling its way
into an open space
and you realize
entering your kitchen
in that futile search
for that last empty bottle
that your decision
not to smile
let a whole other life
simply walk away
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