I Flew into Denver April Poem by adrian c. louis

I flew into Denver April.
Rock salt and sand peppered the asphalt
reflecting myself on a downtown street
where I'd paused on my route to smell lilacs.
The wanton winds chortled wickedly
over remnant snows in gray clumps of doom
and my heart soared gladly at winter's death
but an hour later I had whiskey breath
at a dead end bar full of Indians.
A Winnebago woman waltzed with me
and told me how handsome I truly was
so I bought her drinks and felt her hips
and somewhere between the grinds
and dips she lifted my wallet and split.