• Matt Smythe

SLIDE GUITAR

Updated: Jul 10

She asks Tell me, sad eyes What would it take to get a dance?

I don’t answer

My silence doesn’t register as an answer She asks again

I stand, all jeans, boots & empty Take her hand for a couple trips around the floor Under neon I barely recognize my reflection in the glass

I’d rather be taking up space at the bar Listening to that mournful wail Letting my mind head off on its dark walk


You’re a hell of a dancer Buy me a beer? she asks

There’s no calling my mind back I leave her with a sweating beer & a tip for the bar Her frown says she gets it


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© 2017 By Matt Smythe