Neon

Each night she came as smoke ring mist
that floated lazy from your mouth,
crooning Tangueray poetry.

A tabletop is littered with  
red playing cards and 'tater chips,  
and soggy lip-rouged ciggie butts  

from fiery redheads tipsy with
one too many vodka shots  
to consummate a truckers' stop.

Her gin-sling sequined cocktail dress,
split up the sides & down the back,
hides nothing less from your mind's eye.

She ransomed you her miracles  
the first time when you heard her sing  
your favorite songs to you that night.

You raise aloft your whiskey glass;
a send-off of a time gone by,
of stains she left along the bar,

while semi-trucks downshift their loads  
that flicker from the neon lights  
alongside the old Interstate.