Night Queen

crimson lips glisten
lids are painted shades of silver
searching the streets for dinner tonight
neon lights make her blond hair blue and red
patriotic, almost

puddles of oil and grease beside the cracked corner
where she stands,
waiting for the iron smile of the perfect man.
sucking on smoke to pass time,
tendrils wafting up, settling into well
weathered cracks
she painstakingly covers with chalky paste

she checks again in the splintered glass

and smears on more
she knows tonight is the night.
she will send him to his knees, begging,
and she will be his queen.

night slows down
she stands, staring into blinking
lights of the dying town.
last one lefts, counts to a hundred one more time,
the victim of another wretched song.

she turns on her highest heel and slips away,
shielding her face from the coming dawn