Jane Vincent Taylor

My therapist says I have a habit

of running away like a rabbit at dusk.

Pink Lizard Lounge. Three women

licking salt from margarita rims. I’m

one of them. By the time they tipsy

out the door I’m gone, tossing in the bed

at El Ferrol, El Ferrol: a burning lantern,

fire in a sack, a bluff.