Dirty Martini

Lifelong dreams drown in cloudy jade liquid.
     Shouldn't have smiled at her on that bar stool.
          Should have minded my own business in the lobby.

The bartender watched us while he blended her Mojito,
a "don't I know him from somewhere" look on his face.

Damn, this gin-soaked olive tingles my tongue.
     I don't have the right to feel good again tonight.
          Shouldn't down any more drinks.
               Shouldn't do anything else I spent too many nights doing.

He's shooting me looks again while he polishes glasses.
Why did I come back here after she left the room?
     Hope he doesn't have a friend who's a friend of mine.
          Hope he keeps his mouth shut.

Chestnut hair cascading down that endless back,
pillowy lips pursed and primed, no-stocking legs,
pop of cleavage--the proverbial cherry on top.
He would have done the same thing.
I caught the half-smile.

So, was it worth it?
Sigh, close my eyes, shake my head,
          slip the gold band back on my finger,
               call home, make up some excuse.
                    Ran into an old buddy, lost track of time.

Shouldn't have asked for her phone number.
Will I ever learn?
Should have tossed it in the trash.

Flick the lighter, burn the digits in the ashtray
when barkeep averts his eyes.
     Check for red smudges on my collar.
          Wash them off in the restroom.

Perfume!
Should have showered before I checked out.
Infidelity is like murder.
Erase every trace of evidence.

"Bartender, hit me again."