cabaretic

Bad Company

bad company
usually comes in
the form of men

with ornate and
highly visible forearm
tattoos

invariably sacrilegious

leering vacantly
mouths open

identical to the way
you're afraid you look

while gazing across
the seats at the latest
attractive stranger

they hunch forward
elbows resting heavily
on knees

talking incoherently
out of the
sides of their mouths

undoubtedly making
women nervous enough
to clutch their purses

reassuringly tighter
shifting their bodies
two inches closer to a

poster advertising
the merits of a
social service agency

one could (I suppose)
stare back
but it would have no
effect whatsoever

all bad company understands
is the evils of
institutionalized food

and the acquisition of
loose change

soon they'll leave
ambling out at the most
unlikely stop imaginable

forcing one
to think up a new game