2005-11-23: 9:58 p.m.

Tequila On A Sunday Morning

Order a shot of tequila.
Go on now
And finally shrug off
That white cashmere shawl
Covering your smooth, pallid shoulders.

Walk on quickly
To the bartender-therapist.
Pour your woes over
A shot of tequila
--And then some.

Order a shot of tequila.
Forget you had three
And burn the words lodged in your throat
That were labeled crude
By the other cashmere shawls.

Throw it back
Down to the other acids churning in your gut.
Then, quell their pleadings
With a last shot of tequila
And, leave the bar with your fixed smile.

But not before, you
Take your white cashmere shawl
And cover your smooth, pallid shoulders.