Solitude

He’s the kind of OG alcoholic who places his beer on the floor next to him
while there are plenty of empty bar tables around.
She’s got ring worm on her breast,
right at the point of plunge.
She remains undeterred, worm or no worm,
a consistent display of her female beacons
is always there for the appreciating.
He, the other he, is too cool to care about her cleavage,
much less about her worm.
He always has this look of indifference on his face,
an air of disinterest about him while she is around.
"I can care less about her....", nobody believes him, except her,
‘cause everyone knows that he is the Brownican in her.
I would imagine that he only fucks her from behind while the worm is around.
Terrible, from what I can see,
the preferred position is definitely from the front.
But I’m not too sure if he uses a condom.
He, the 3rd he, is a talker but he doesn’t say much,
his tongue is handcuffed by the english language.
The frustration on his face however,
is never lost in the translation
as he desperately looks around for help
until his eyes finally settle on me.
He rattles off 3-1/2 words per second, pauses,
confirms that there is no language barrier between us,
pauses once again
and with a sudden sense of empowerment,
he keenly finishes his truth.
Everyone waits for the interpretation........I do not do him justice.
I feel guilty for a second
until he decides that he would like to share another
emphatic philosophical statement with his doubtful friends.
Then, I am annoyed all over again.
Annoyed like she is, yes, another she.
She has gotten abusive with the OG about his stumbling, his mumbling
and his all around unprofessional demeanor
during his attempt to beat her like a man
in a competitive game of billiards.
She,
the 80+ year old woman who is here alone and drinks pepsi all night,
defiantly,
kicks his ass.