Happy Hour, Local

I watch the bartender

take care of her side-work.

she fills

salt shakers,

pepper shakers, some

bottles of hot sauce.

she has great legs in a
pair of short black
shorts, so

I watch those, too, as she

walks down the bar

over to where I’m sitting.

now, the whole place

stinks like

malt vinegar

and I

say,

“sure”

when asked if

I’ll have

another.

I pretend she means

another look at all of that leg

but I take a sip off the top

of the beer just the

same.