On the Pull
Beside the bar I nursed my drink, depression was my food,
she entered like the World's first dawn and cut straight through my mood.
Her dress a silky vortex, skirt was flowing, bodice tight,
the flounce swayed with an ebb and flow like scarlet Northern lights.
Looks crafted to bewilder, eyes dishonest, smile was kind,
she knew that I was curious, and had somehow read my mind.
Cocktail cherry on her lips, a prop to tantalize,
I took the plunge, sat next to her and gazed into her eyes.
A deep breath, with my fingers crossed, I asked “Are you alone?”
Too late, I realised I'd stepped into her killing zone.
A brief appraisal, up and down, and then she laughed out loud,
which brought the curtain down on conversations in the crowd.
Head down, red faced, I turned and walked a dignified retreat,
to find a booth in shadow, where I meekly took a seat.
This dark art she must practise, as she'd pulled off quite a coup
to eviscerate my pride and ego, all in one fell swoop.
Fallacious my long held belief, now well and truly sunk
that I'm a real lady's man, but only when I'm drunk.
For contest 'eight word challenge', sponsor John Hamilton
28th June 2018
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