Tuesday Afternoon

by John Rocco

“Writing on the walls with shit and period blood,” she said.
“The girl’s bathroom at our high school was insane!
You wouldn’t believe it.”

It’s turning late afternoon in the Bronx
in the bar
and I’m at the end
listening to Monica
on her high school bathroom.

The bartender is blasted on coke
talking years a minute
shooting complete games
of pool by herself
calling every two shots in advance
hitting most of them
her great ass humping the table.

Later,
again behind the bar
she says:
“Fuck that! I don’t wanna be going with the Angels!
I wanna be sniffing stuff, and drinking, and having sex!”

I go home
have 3 beers in cans
and watch the Mets lose
6-5 to the Padres
and I don’t even think about her.