I’ve Heard It All Before

I stride across sticky floors,

cup held lightly between loose fingertips,

the low lighting making me all the more alluring and

my smile all the more inviting from across the room.

But my smile doesn’t match my tired eyes

and you don’t catch how it teases you.

How, Can I get you a drink?

wore out its novelty months ago

having heard the same drunken remark

from many a mouth too close to mine.

I can’t throw back vodka anymore

and the idea of Captain is a trigger.

And I promise you, when you swagger up

I’ve heard it all, all of it before.

And all of what I’ve said, what I’ve done,

the teasing one liners and shoulder touches

all stick to the ritual without much originality.

The charm wears off long before I’m home,

where I clumsily toss off my heels

knot up my teased hair in a bun,

my dress in a heap on the floor

its Sunday morning home at quarter to four.

What I’d give to go back to times

when those heels weren’t scuffed

when that dress’s zipper didn’t get stuck

when my eyes lit up as a boy drunkenly

breathed how beautiful I was.

The game hasn’t changed of course,

but the players have lost their touch.

So when you corner me at the bar

and I lean into your shoulder

as I have so many times before

it’s with the smothered hope that just once,

you’ll come up and say something new.