La Casa

One year,
I decided to be cool.

It wasn’t easy being badass
Wearing a “Members Only” jacket,
But I thought I managed.
I was wrong, but,

I was hanging out with my buddies at this bar.
My best friend, wearing so much Polo aftershave
It made my skin hurt, tells me
I should go talk to this girl.
It was the 1980’s:
She had on enough hairspray
To hold off an enemy invasion,
Which, it turned out, meant me.

Five of us guys, us losers,
Bouncing quarters into various glasses,
Drinking shots, staggering over to tables of women,
Taking shots, wobbling back to the table
Vaguely aware we might not be appearing
At our best advantage under these lights
Because girls could actually see us.

But somehow

I’m out on the dance floor with this girl
I don’t even remember asking
And her hair is dark like
Rain and all
My other mistakes, but she smiles
Shining under those old disco lights and

The problem with falling in love at
La Casa is that
I had already lost
Twelve dollars in quarters and
Some recent memories and
That stupid jacket and
My sense of proportion, but not
That awful Polo smell

Contemplating all of that,
I realized I had lost track
Of where I was and
My buddies and
The girl with the dark hair and

I was walking home
Looking pretty cool with
Somebody’s jacket over my shoulder,
Politician style

Except

I wasn’t all that cool

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “La Casa”

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