A Poem That Isn'T About Her Poem by Charles Malcolm

A Native American stumblebum told me a dirty
joke in the bus tunnel.
I laughed even though I knew the punchline.
'Beef stroganoff.'

He offered me vodka and I declined.
I had whiskey at home.

I eyed my reflection in the window of the 106,
wondering if my labret piercing was contaminated.
Thrush from too much rinsing.
Infection from too much drinking.

I stepped off the bus.
Fired up a cigarette.
Walked home.

I didn't think about her at all.
I poured myself a whiskey.

There.