BYE, O' LOGICAL CLOCK

the rain check bounced,
her second chance trounced
fool on a stool,
crouched like a question mark
a soft spill of wine
color’d outside the lines
of a napkin doodle

cold sweats and knots-me-forgets,
she’ll bolt upright
in the meat of the night,
a game gal volatile
and still premarital
not counting her lickin’s
before they’re matched.




***