Image for the poem Chances Are

Chances Are

One shot too many
The bottle nearly drained
His face darkening with each amber drop
Recalling the target he let skate
The ex-boxer on the other side of town
"Pros don't ask questions," he reflects
And his moral qualm could turn out to be the last

But she seems to have materialized
This goddess perched on the next stool
Requesting Sex On the Beach and a Tequila Sunrise
The former she slides his way
Her fingers electric on the back of his hand
He believes she'll offer salvation
The kind provided in a motel bed
The sheets stained with blood and cum
She asks if he's feeling lucky
And he assures her that he is
Something about an ace in the hole
She finds this amusing, that sly smile
All that he needs to see when the last drink is poured.
Written by crowfly
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