The Older Blonde

The older blonde
(The older ones who should be grey
Are never spicy red
Or cultured smart brunette
But always blonde)
Explains my faults
In short details.
I'm male.
The rest are ordered 
Underneath that heading
In a steadily descending hierarchy.

I now believe the shimmering ones
Are all in happy homes.
I am a vulture,
Picking through the stark remains.

She's connected
To her exes
In relations most
Uncomfortable.
All that she cannot let loose
From them
She brings here to our booth
To hang around my lanky neck.

She was aware of his affair
But didn't care
So long it didn't interfere with hers.
The song's unchanged,
There's just another verse.

I should have slid my finger left.

It's getting dark.
The young and cheerful waitress
Opens up a window,
Santa Ana spirits
Clearing out the air.

- 10/29/25

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