sex bomb

the girls, they dropped like sex bombs

down into the bar

just as I was headed

out to the waiting car.

another day wasted,

another night spent,

I yelled at the driver

and so off he went.

it’s enough in my knowing

each day has its end,

as I’m left doubled over

as if I had the bends.

for life, it moves quickly

yet slow to reveal,

and so why we’re so late

to know what we feel —

is it guilt, is it fear?

anger, rage, sadness?

somehow our pride

breeds its own madness:

an attitude of platitudes,

born of pain and of scars.

pinned in the corner,

we never get far.