on any given night at any given bar
there are as many visons of reality as there are customers
and more so when the alcohol kicks in and people think
they are tougher, smarter or better looking .

tonight I am held hostage by a woman
who mistakenly thinks she is all three
boredom brought me to the bar tonight
but Sharon’s leathery face speaks of a lifetime of trouble
the bar is a place for Sharon to talk to strangers
all I want is to be left alone and listen to jazz.

too much booze leads Sharon
to mistakenly think she can speak
coherently without spitting on me
she takes a long drag on her cigarette, pauses,
and brags she knows everyone at the bar
I tell her , “Why don’t you talk to one of your friends?”.

I am writing poetry on a napkin when Sharon grabs my
half finished poem and puts it between her legs.
now we have the same vision of reality
I grab Sharon’s makeup case
and threaten to break it unless she returns the poem
which is a better choice than searching near her crotch.

in a confusing contrast of emotions
Sharon kisses my ear while she pounds
the hand that is holding her makeup case on the bar
that is as weathered as her face.

as she presses and pounds my hand I can feel the many years
Sharon tended bar in Florida and turned tricks in Las Vegas
I am sure Sharon’s hand is as strong as any man’s at the bar.

thinking she is whispering Sharon stops the music and talk
at the bar when she screams at me, “I am one quarter Indian,and,you are a
full length B Horror movie asshole.”

I laugh so hard that I release her makeup case.
I tell Sharon to keep the poem as I leave the bar:
“It isn’t worth shit anyway.”

Sharon warns me, “You better not leave,”
“or I’ll grab you by the nuts and toss you on the moon.!”
I escape. while
she wails,” You never liked me anyway.”
it is the first time Sharon and I agree all night.