The swagger. The shuffle. The near defeat crawl.
The slump. The skip. The swing out. The stomp.
The startled scare. The game loss drag. The short of a
run. The short of a dance. The short collapse.
The doorman wants your identity, your drink count,
your reason for not smiling. The doorman wants to know
why you are walking this way, will he have to deal with
you later, what (the fuck) is your problem.
The stagger. The swim. The sidewalk stain.
The swerve into traffic. The stereo bounce. The late
blink and you missed it, you're in the road now.
The doorman explains it's just his job, because it is.
Eight hours nine hours, twelve, means nothing
when you feet won't pick up the right way.
Elements of comfort, safe place, dependent
on thirty second explanations. You can let him
know, or you can let him know.
The slog. The trek. The amble. The gambol.
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