Closing Time

Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Gottfried Heinwein

She flickers her fur boa just as rehearsed,
aroused by the concept of roles reversed.
Another night at Phillies where studs are thin,
perhaps the odds will improve with a tall glass of gin.

Introductions worn thin by conversation so terse
She gathered her nerves along with her purse.
“Neither of these clods can pass minimal inspection”,
she muttered in a voice full of disdainful inflection.

Striding for the door, house-gin fueling her speech;
she grabbed one of their arms, the first within reach.
“There’s no carriage outside, and I’m no Cinderella;
but the mood has struck me for a strapping young fella!”