i finished the last

stanza

and looked up from

my notebook

and saw her staring at me

so i stared back

while i grabbed my beer

and took a swig

i knew that look

and knew what was coming

and then it came

“are you a writer?”

she asked me

isn’t everybody?

i asked back

she moved two seats closer

until her leg was up against mine

and put two fingers up

at the barkeep

“what kind of writer

are you?”

she asked so close

i could smell which brand

of cigarettes she smoked -

parliaments - i hate parliaments

the broke kind

i said back

just like everybody

she laughed a forced laugh

and then reached

for my notebook

i let her normally

if they read some they ran away

on their own

and i didn’t have to endure

anymore

and she read

and kept reading

and finally looked back up

after about five poems

and stared back at me

and i rolled my eyes

and drank my beer

and told her to just go

and cut the dramatics

“it’s wonderful”

she said

“it’s raw”

she said

“it’s real”

she said

and so on and so on

until i excused myself

for a cigarette

and she followed

and screaming

“I WRITE, TOO!

READ ONE, READ ONE!”

and when i turned

to say no

she had her phone smashed against

my nose

and a poem on it

it was short

so i sighed and read it

and it went:

clouds cover the skies,

rain pulls at your eyes,

but nothing hurts as much

as little words turned lies

“well?”

she asked

“what do you think?”

i handed her phone back

and wondered if she was pretty enough

to lie to

she liked my work

which meant she was crazy

but she had confidence

which normally translates to good in bed

and she wasn’t ugly per se

just more of a nerdy look

like she wo-

she lit a cigarette

while waiting for my response

it’s terrible

i told her

worse than trash

i tossed the phone

back to her

as i walked to my car

i saw her standing there

still frozen with her phone

on the ground and her

parliament burning in her hand

as i drove away - i hate parliaments