No, Thank You. Not Today, Sir

I went to a poetry workshop a couple of months ago for cabaret poetry. It was a new and fun experience. Here’s the work that resulted from that workshop with pictures of me reading.

You saw me sitting from across the bar through the smoky curtain of your Cuban cigar.
“Mami, pero you’re too pretty to be alone,” you slur. To which I smile and respond, “No, thank you, not today sir.”
Glass slams on the table. “Pero, mami, you haven’t even heard me out.”
Your sweaty brow furrows and lips start to pout.
I lean away for safety, just to be sure. Again, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”
Your hand comes down on my shoulder that’s bare. “C’mon, mami. Why don’t you play fair?”
I push your hand off, muscles tensed, lips pursed. Through gritted teeth say, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”

I get up walk past clinking glasses and you grab my wrist. I force you off
with an unexpected twist. Slack-jawed and dumb, you begin to sputter.
I hold myself tall and shout, “No, thank you. Not today, sir!”

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