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My waitress is blonde and beautifully
nervous as she twirls her pinky ring
and plays with the love affair she's
having with me and somewhere I kneel
with heart in mouth and cock in hand
and swear the swollen Moon
on a riverbank deep in her imagination.
But here in a New York deli
the counter is crowned with rings
of red pepper in tall bottles
of green water and a Greek
with bad skin stuffs wax paper
sandwiches in a bag and me,
I'm a heartless bastard;
stuffing my smokes in my pocket
and leaving the bitch a quarter.