Plane Janes, Juliets, and Yourself

In the dive bars with the Juliets and clear glass apple shaped hearts,

They all seem the same and start to rot from with out side in.

Falling over again and again,

with hollowed out legs.

How glasses don’t seen to be top heavy at last call.

The plain Janes remain with flat footed shoes,

and hands digging into purses, bras, and knee high socks.

Pulling cash stock from the plain Jane bank of lust,

rather yet, banks of trust.

The Juliets drive off in warm white and red cars,

Through a single entrance, and mirrored single exit

parking lot.

The winter in Chicago was almost on its way out.

All the pale skinned, plum lipped Lucy’s roll their eyes at their

Reflections comforting themselves with uneven layers

of cream powder.

The Juliet’s, exit alongside each other,

but now alongside empty pocketed drink buying strangers

from inside the dives. Leaving in their menthol cloud,

of what looks like seven inch cigarettes,

hanging out of two inch cracked windows.

I have about six more drags out of a cigarette,

that I was asked to hold by an average

plain Jane in an off orange and brown and

morning storm blue plad colored shirt.

She was walking back inside swift,

but purposely trying to be unnoticed as she entered

the dive. Dodging through the once every twenty second

one way street traffic.

As I placed the Jane out of my head,

while simultaneously bunting a cigarette off the bottom of my

brown leather shoe. I wipe all expressions off of my pale face

when I get on the other side of the street.

Its dark, the only dim light I can see is about one half block up the street.

I can’t wait to be out of the sights of the want to be Romeos

or Ralphs, and the Juliets and Jane of all shapes, smells,

and clothes.

Really, I don’t see the difference between most of most people,

or anyone now a days.

I’ve drank enough to hold off on my burdens for the night,

And until eggs and hangovers in the early hours of tomorrow,

I journey home.