Such a vision of beauty.
Black ‘X’s on her hands.
Layers of the unknown
Caked upon her once-white Vans.

Her hair, matted with sweat,
Swings around her like rope.
Occasionally it’s snagged by
Strange armpits in need of soap.

Unsteady on her feet,
Dancing with little grace.
A pinball in the machine,
Her mind off somewhere in space.

As she belts out Shakira,
No man by her side,
I wholeheartedly agree—
Her hips do not lie.

Her smile, though, it must be false.
I know she needs someone.
Dancing with her girl friends
Can’t possibly be much fun.

She has yet to see me,
But still I make my way
Across the crowded dance floor
Ready to save the day.

I approach her from behind—
The surprise is always best.
Then I grab her ‘round her waist;
I’m sure she feels so #blessed.

Suddenly she spins around.
Now I’m looking at her face.
Politely, she slurs, “No thanks,”
Removing my hands from their place.

No need to feel discouraged
As the crowd steals her from view.
I guess that’s just what happens
In the flashing lights of Shooters II.

I’ll go find another one—
One who’s not so snooty.
Black ‘X’s on her hands.
A true vision of beauty.

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