Gretchen On The Bar, Off The Bar
Was funny the way you kept insisting,
with brown eyes full, big as buckets of molasses,
that we dance the two step right there on the bar.
"Can we dance on your bar?"
"No, you might hurt your head on the fans"
"Let's dance on the bar."
"Ok. Don't fall."
"Ok. I won't fall."
You came tumbling, tumbling down
landing first on a stool, then on the floor
in a flurry of mad kisses, thin fingers,
long luxurious legs and white arms,
and wet cherry lips and long hair like bright straw.
You said, "Hand me my beer."