Bukowski would have loved her.
Drunk driving the Beemer
out to the track with her
nestled beside him,
feeling lucky,

Mahler from the Blaupunkt
filling the smoky interior,
sun so bright
it hurts their sore eyes,
even through tinted glass.

Forget that mess
from last night.
Take out the
empties later,
after the ponies.

At supper,
canned ravioli
by candlelight
and a table red
for starters.

Later, more tangled sheets.

© Barry Basden, 2009