She plays the game…
Of tinkling martini glasses
As she shoots her glazed eyes
At one boy or another

Wondering if she asks
“Truth or dare”
Will they still care
As they gaze
At her so-blond hair

Does she still dare
To dazzle the men
To rile their libidos
With trite innuendoes
Try and pretend
That the Game
Is still the same…

She blinks at half-a-chance
Of salvation
For the night
Knowing she will
Feel contrite
When the gloom
Of dawn looms
Like the open maw
Of a whale…

Swallowing
Reality and time
On her downward spiral…

She leans into the guy
Beside her to ask for help
But the game has already
Been set.,,

She flicks her manicured mane,
Clicks the glass with her
Manufactured nails
Decides her fate for the night
With one intentional look
And leaves the past behind…
A “tell-all” for another book.