"I don't go out anymore, " she said, matter-of-factly,
When quizzed by the new boys on the other side of the bar.
She's got the look; got that well put-together appeal…
They just had to ask.
"It is ironic; I work here just to pay the bills; and, here I am,
Thirty years old, and I don't party anymore."
Though not a fan myself,
Her semi-sleeve of tats did not disturb me,
And did not offset her cuteness.
"I used to do things I couldn't control,
And I'd do things I'd regret…"
She threw a glance my way, as I grinned,
And looked up from my drink when I heard that comment.
Two generations away, I could see the spark in her,
An inner growth that will soon grow into reward,
Because she caught herself soon enough;
Brave enough to dismiss the worship and adoration
That attractiveness threw in her path;
And bold enough to confess it in the milieu
Where some regrets begin.
The boys carried on now with truncated sentences,
Cemented back into their chairs, flat-footed,
No longer on elbows and tip toes;
Testosterone sealed into jars of disappointment.
She carried on, back and forth behind the busy bar…
Well-poured jeans, trim top;
Shapely, though not working out (she said) .
Just her and her two dogs, living alone,
No drinking, no partying.
She knows everyone, and they all say hi,
As they belly up to the bar.
And the new boys talk amongst themselves,
And begin scanning the room,
And spy two girls sitting alone with their drinks.
Soon, there are two new couples at a table;
For this night, anyway, with no regrets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem