Cigarettes and Another Man’s Wife – Poem by Flint

She’s two bottles gone. Pants
in the corner. Brown
bottom bouncing, henna hair
red and swinging like a bell.

My black shirt unbuttoned
I’m tapping ashes into
a plastic cup. I don’t know
where anyone is.

She shouts waiting for
the next song: This!
Is what! I was born!
To do!

And she’s on her knees
hands and lips and the vodka
on her tongue stings my dick
but not very much.

And the sun is rising
out the dirty window.
And she’s doing that which
she was born to do.

While I close my eyes
and smoke
all of her husband’s

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