He sits at the bar stool next to me
concentrating on the scars I
exhibit
asks me a thousand questions
assures me he’s different from
the rest
and buys me a glass of
chardonnay
he’s nice enough I guess
but his teeth are crooked
I loose interest quickly
he wants my number 
so I lie and tell him I’m involved
I can tell he’s pissed
I refrain from asking him
if he seriously thought he could have me
for a friggin glass of wine
the suit on the other side
reeks of cheap “men’s room cologne”
and spends most of the conversation
staring at my chest
he’s wearing a knock-off Rolex
and fake leather shoes
I’m annoyed
there’s a cowboy hat shooting darts
and he catches my eye
I flirt a bit and he approaches
he smells like hay and I tell him
my horse is double parked
his chaps are in a bunch
and he calls me a bitch
home alone I remember
when we first met
how it just worked
what you used to smell like
I imagine you lying next to me 
trying to make the scars go away
I inhale the loneliness like a drug
and sleep like I used to
when your love never kept me 
awake