That Song

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Her song, smoked
and low
at the microphone
sent me into a mood. 
 
She sent me to
the dark corners of 
barrooms across
small town America,
 
where the ground 
at the entrance is damp,
inviting a chorus of critters
to translate for the others
 
that couldn’t make it. 
I want to meet you there,
the one where the cypress 
tree grows and mimics
 
shade for a room without
AC as the humidity 
and the background guitar
makes me feel easy, ready to
 
flirt with you like new lust. 
She’s convincing me, between
the lines, to love you like
a one night stand, even when
 
I’m not even into that sort 
of thing–but she sings
about burning the mattress
with someone she remembers,
 
and suddenly, during the third
beer, I understand why she thinks
we need to leave this place and find
some quiet, treat the loneliness
 
but not the disease. These days,
that’s all we can do. That’s why
she sings to us as wine creeps up
on me as I wait to go home, meet you there
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