Next Time

the stench of garbage

faint smell of Charlie perfume

ice skates askew in the meandering hallway

Pine Sol

lingering in the dead air of the tenement

dark in the corridor

squalling kid somewhere

cigarette smoke filtered from rooms

strains of Bonanza on television

all lightbulbs busted out

worked to our benefit

heard the swish of your nylons

as you walked ahead of me

seemed to know where you were going

hall deadened

you groped for something in the dark

we quietly eased inside

utility closet

you reached above your head

pulled the light cord

would you believe it came on

we fornicated

by raw light

later

driving home

I said

I get to pick the place next time

it's our game

we're never bored

©November 16, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton