By Dave Hood
Once Friday night, after work, when you’re just out to relax,
unwind at a crowded bar, you meet a pretty woman,
attired in a tight black dress, adorned in red lipstick
You think: she’s first class, like a fashion model.
You share interesting dialogue, laugh at each other’s jokes,
Feel mutual attraction, purchase her a glass of red wine.
Later, you dance sensually with her for an hour,
like your a contestant on “Dancing with the Stars,”
to the rhythmic beat, of pop, rock, techno, r & b.
Leaving the hot, dark, dance floor, listening to the noisy
rhythmic beat,You tell yourself,” She’s the one.
”At the bar,you order her another glass of red wine. She sips it,
finishes it, thanks you, smiles and tells you, I’ll be back.
Then strolls away, teasing you with her gorgeous “buttocks.”
For the rest of the night, she’s on your mind,
out of sight, a mystery woman, with a fantastic figure,
a smart mind. She’s the woman you’ve been searching for,
dreaming of meeting, all these years, you tell yourself.
At closing, you begin to leave, feeling no pain,
scout for her in the crowd of intoxication,
catch a glimpse in the distance. So you follow,
feeling like a stalker,through a dark parking lot,
to a parked, red corvette, where you watch
as she embraces, passionately French kisses
a tall, dark handsome man, who happens to be
your buddy from work.