H Street, 11:45 P.M.

H STREET, 11:45 P.M.

I sit here alone in an alcohol haze,
the evening quickly succumbing
to those final minutes before midnight.

I listen as the night’s stragglers retreat
to darkened corners, leaning together
and speaking in shadow whispers.

I watch the barmaid move as if floating
across the floor. Her face looks tired
as she ferries beers to secreted tables.

I stare at the glass she sets before me,
considering the condensation on curved glass,
glistening like the sweat on her lover’s thighs.