The Make Poem by Sarah Sisson

At the bouncer he starts his night, looks right.
He shimmies to dance floor, looks at clothes tight.
This one is skimming crowd “which one tonight? ”
He then bellies up to the bar “one Bud Light”
And he opens one more button, hair's a sight.
He jostles his head to the beat, thinks he might,
get up to go ask one to dance, the floor bright.
Under the disco ball he reasons, flight.
Because this one brightened is quite a fright.

Copyright 01-03-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson