Smoke drifts, curls then thins
wrapped round a half filled glass,
passes between fingers, out above heads,
hangs in speckled blue tinged pall.
Watching a woman, he finds her beauty
flawed, tawney eyes cruel, indifferent.
She's dressed to please
no-one but herself and does not smile.
The smell of cigars begins to irritate
and so does her perceived indifference.
He hails the barman loudly, "The same again
for me and one for the lady over there."
Finely polished nails push forward
an almost empty spirit glass.
Her speech is slow but not yet slurred,
"Thank you darlin', She reached to stroke his hair."