praise this queen
or jester or goddess
whatever this blur
of plates and glasses

of applauded spills
and eloquent yessir
flirtatious banter
and large dreams

no stranger to gossip
she has been the
purveyor, and the conduit,
and the cause

the regulars
the just-passing-throughs
she is a quick judge of
lottery ticket choices

she tacks a room
as if it were a regatta
looking for the prevailing
opportunity in the swales

explanation is quick
rote and sincere
insincerity is left for the dollar
the most necessary of pariahs

there’s always tomorrow,
walking through the front door
there’s always tomorrow
there’s always always.

© Tom Watters  6/24/06