hey girl –

it’s a flirtation,

in the surrender

of the s&p index,

from erie to la

on summertime decks

in the counter fits

of cornhole games,

leaving a fix

in the usual politics,

serving up ther drinks,

for a bunch of sore losers,

like an old harpster,

jamming in the strings

from a dust covered guitar,

with another send off,

in a sneak kiss,

in a long lost –

stuck in the mud-

to seize a buck,

in this shake it down,

bandit in this town.