Professional Gas Lighters

they stand at the bar tipping poison into their own drinks smiling like devils with cherry lipstick— their eyes cold and wet, like alley cats wet from the rain. they love to tell you you’ve misunderstood the truth you’ve got it all wrong— your shadow’s on the wrong side of the street. they hold up a mirror— you see yourself cracking like cheap glass— they grin, one step back one step ahead— professional gas lighters burning the soul right out of you.