Stains

The first time I walked into one
it was with two close friends,
my mom told me to take my father,
I laughed at the thought,
seeing as I was hesitant from the beginning.

I felt different,
in need of a stiff drink;
she poured me
a triple,
I asked for a single,
maybe she felt
my discomfort.

The boys and I played
a game of billiards,
waiting for the girls to light up
the dollar bill stage;
I started to feel a little
looser;
she took hold of the cold
metal pole.

I lost count of my drinks,
kept count of my cash,
plenty of fun ahead
if I could build up the courage
to ask her for a dance.

The night picked up,
so did the boys,
I found the words I was looking for
at the bottom of my drink;
we were piano keys
behind the red curtain,
black and white like the lines
of ink and powder
stained on our skin.