Poetry by
Gregory McIntyre

Impromptu dance routines are rare, Out there, in the open air, But in this sweltering subway Something makes me wanna DANCE!

Take that woman there, perchance She might become the saucy wench That I so dearly wish her to be, A diva just for me.

That short blond woman, twelve o’clock, Glasses tipped, petite head cocked, Looking at me in the reflection— I like her head’s inflection.

I like the way she’s dropped her case. I like the way she’s kissing my face. I like the place her hands are going. I like the way our eyes meet, knowing.

“Would you like to see where I work?” There’s a bed there, and I need to Plurk, “Oh, you play SecondLife too?” I blab. “I want to make your RL tab!”