In the City

You bend down, backwards

like an acrobat against a tree on the sidewalk

In the city

A police car rushes by

Threatening to slow to a stop

Because your breath is full of tequila

Will I get you home before twelve?

Not when men passing in cars 

Want to take you with them

The air is dirty and smells like sweat

The anticipation of a hundred girls

Who curled their hair and eyelashes

pulled out their mom’s perfume

they lay idle now, slouching against 

One another 

You put an arm around me, lazily

“I don’t want to go,”

and my smile is knowing and crashing,

ending a show

there are a hundred disappointed faces

in my eyes

In yours, the glossy promise of ecstasy