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- Growing Up Bronx
He told you he liked your nose?
… and asked you if you were “dangerous?”
What kinda’ pickup line is that supposed to be?
I think I’d like to take that one on.
Its Sunday afternoon and you’re sitting alone
at the far end of the bar
chatting up my buddy the bartender.
I come in and take a seat at the opposite end.
The joint is empty except for the two of us.
When he finishes his business with you,
he strolls down and mixes up my “usual.”
We pick up our conversation
where we left off last Sunday;
The usual barfly bullcrap conversation.
and you later tell me you knew immediately that:
“A)” I’m someone who wouldn’t notice or remember you,
“B)” I’m someone whose skin you definitely want to get under.
Part “A)” not true;
I don’t make a habit of starting conversations
with strangers drinking alone
in an empty bar on a Sunday afternoon;
I figure they might be needin’ some space.
But what the freak?
Let the games begin!
You open with Bukowski: Do I like him?
It becomes very apparent very quickly
that whatever I reply
will be immediately rebutted
with a deliberately opposite opinion.
I’m thinkin’ more like “Happy Hour” ball buster.
So, Part “b)”? True!
Someone is getting under my skin.
Ya’ pissed me off; mission accomplished.
I respond in kind,
and the seed has been planted
for what will grow
into both a challenging and enduring friendship,
flavored with Happy Hour whiskey
and lots of stimulating conversation.
To the point, “Are you dangerous?”
I’m thinkin’ on this,
as you inhale long and slow,
on that American Spirit menthol,
while your idle hand fingers prayer beads
made of hearts captured
and minds enraptured.
So, if dangerous means tangling
with some sexy, smart, lady,
who can go shot for shot with you,
while freaking with your head,
and you’re liken’ it,
then yeah! You’re dangerous, very freaking dangerous.
…….. and I like your nose too.
Growing Up Bronx