A bastard day. I won’t unwind until I nurse a drink
or three, so guess I’ll hit my favourite dingy bar.
Inside, this guy keeps eyeing my ponytail. (“Looks good on you.”)
I inch further away and say:

“Dude, I think you need, like, glasses,
or someone should turn on the lights.
I know we’re sitting here in darkness,
but still, a guide dog with no eyes could tell the girls from all the guys!”

He walks away. My bladder’s full. The bathroom’s almost dark --
and then he’s at the stalls as I undo my flies.
So near. Too near. “I’ve seen the tail, how ’bout the pony too?”
I roll my eyes, and groan. (And pee.)

“Dude, enough with all the passes!
You won’t be riding me tonight…
You’re bold, I’m flattered, and you’re harmless,
but still, I’m not that way incline—”

“Geez, you know -- that feels alright!
Your hold is generating hardness!
Until someone turns on the lights, feel free to blow me all you like…!”