She said she was an artist,
what kind I’m not sure.
She didn’t say whether she
painted or poemed.
She has a nose ring and a
few tattoos, a short pixie do
and a dog named Howl.
She said she liked punk music
but all the bands are new.
She strums a guitar but doesn’t
know a tune.
She smokes like a coal fire
and drinks like a sailor. She
looks for a fight but wouldn’t
harm a soul.
She presses herself against me
and I hold her close. I want her to
want me but I’m not sure she
knows.
She’ll get bored with me soon
and move on to some young
punk dude in tight jeans and in
a band.
I’ll miss her misty blue eyes
and I’ll wonder what went wrong.
Maybe I’m not that cool
and knew it all along.
So much for first dates
and high heart rates.
Back to the beginning,
and someone cool.
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