An Evening Burger at Swingers

When I order a beer I’m asked for my ID. All of the
Waitresses have tattoos. Some of the clientele have tattoos.
A scraggy-haired Englishman; a large fantasy-reading, shorts-
Wearing college boy. A female driver, here to take away,
Nervously fingers her car-keys. The Mexican waiters
Pour drinks but do not serve. One asks me what I’m reading. I
Tell him Goethe’s obsessed with detail. He says when he doesn’t
Like a book or a film he leaves them half-finished. Money,
He informs me, is less important than time. Back in the
Hotel room, I forego Goethe, watch crap TV instead.