I met her at a dive bar,
Eyes the color of whiskey,
hair like black velvet.
She smiled at me, “Hungry Like the Wolf”
blasting in the background
and I was too eager to be her prey.
I offered to buy her a drink
and five martinis later,
I would have offered her the world.
In a voice like magic, she invited me
back to her place, put me under her spell.
In the morning, I stumbled out of bed
and saw in the mirror
a reflection of my indiscretion.
I found my cell phone, dialed “Morgan”
and begged for answers.
She whispered, still half drunk,
“You said a kiss for the toad.”
“A kiss for the road,” I croaked.
“A kiss for the road!”
Laughter like a wolf’s midnight howl.
Lisa Lerma Weber likes to howl at the moon. Her words and photography have appeared online and in print. Follow her on Twitter @LisaLermaWeber.