Friday Night I’m gonna smoke all your cigarettes, Make you go crazy trying to figure out if I’m really that girl in the album liner notes of your favorite band. You pour your beer in the trash, refuse to drink the backwash. But hell, it’s Friday night and there’s more than leftover beer in your future and mine. We think about fooling around, but the couch is full of passed out hippies and covered in cigarette burns, and shit, it isn’t even our house. I bum your last smoke but your lighter is dead. Kinda like tonight you joke and I give you a pity laugh. Karen Cline-Tardiff has been writing as long as she could hold a pen. Her works have appeared in several anthologies and journals, both online and in print. She founded the Aransas County Poetry Society. She has a Kindle book of poetry, Stumbling to Br...
Like the title says.