Member-only story
Instead of driving to Bobo’s Tavern in my tight jeans
that winter night when it was too cold to snow,
instead of drinking with whoever would drink with me
and ending up on top of the table,
sad little sorta-married middle-aged gogo girl
(my husband’s out of town)
and I’m writhing to Sade’s “Smooth Operator”
having completely forgotten to
pick up my son from the dance…
I’d threatened him with a hard, humorless face
that he’d be sorry if he wasn’t outside waiting for me at
(repeat: AT)
9:00pm
At 9:30pm, a family friend noticed
him on the corner by himself,
stamping his feet,
blowing into his cupped hands,
(it was November)
and gave him a ride home.
Meanwhile, I weaved carefully to the ladies room
and back every so often,
in between flirting and drinking and dancing.
Yeah, instead of that,
