Karl Koweski

late night litmus test at the grab-a-granny inn

I was wretchedly drunk
so it was difficult
for me to gauge
the woman’s beauty.

the fact she claimed
she found me attractive
should have put her
desirability into doubt.

there were my
wolverine sideburns to consider,
muttonchops descending
my jawline so staggering,
so impressive,
I could have led a
Civil War regiment
by follicle strength alone.

but it’s been well-established
in this society
women don’t react well
to facial hair that
fell out of fashion
two centuries ago.

also, she made her move
after I karaoked
“I Love the Dead”
Alice Cooper’s sinister
ode to the joys
of necrophilia
which might have led her
to believe
I was free and nondiscerning
with my charms.

sitting in the shadows
in the back corner
of the lounge
with our arms draped
around each other
as some jackass on stage
flubbed his way
through “Ice, Ice Baby”
she admitted
I wasn’t her primary choice.

but the first guy
lost out when she
discovered his utter
lack of teeth.
she put her tongue in his mouth
and felt that solitary tooth
jutting crookedly like
a tombstone knocked askew.

she picked up a shot
of Cuervo gold,
raised the glass, said
“it only takes three
or four of these babies
to get me naked,”
and I smacked that
shot glass right out
of her fucking hand.

there was no telling
how many she had
before I sat down
beside her.