VULTURES AT THE BAR

they wait at the bar
while he sips to death
every glass of poison

she walks past in bold strides
he thinks of the jolly ride
maximizes his male-pride

he orders more poison
to die quicker, intoxication-wise
vultures look on patiently

she strikes when the iron is hottest
when the man is dead and meat
his brain connects with his groin

she strikes deep down into his heart
with such brutality he sees the folly
in every glass of poison

done, everything's decimated
finances, conscience and fidelity
he comes home unable to smile