To the quiet sweaty man who I met at a bar on a Monday
Where the drain dripped between the boards
Wearing a raincoat and boots in July
Could I paint you sometime-peculiar perhaps?
Enjoying music outside your window
Fan mussing my hair
Oranges and reds on my lips, playing at the windows
The drawings were off-paintings rough
A sketch or two but that was enough
You decided flowers were better
After I changed my pants to a dress
Reds into blues
A white purse too clean for you
So I left, with thirty dollars for half the time
A beer and a shot of vodka
Presence penetrated your vases and knick knacks
Thanked me-subversive suggestion in words
Yet decided flowers were better