I told them at the desk the night was loud

I told them at the desk the night was loud,

that we had drinks and laughed until the end.

I painted in a happy, faceless crowd

and called the empty chair a long-lost friend.

The truth is just the waiter’s pitying stare

when I asked him for a second gin and lime.

I sat and watched the candle's yellow flare

and tried to kill the slow and heavy time.

The receipt is in my pocket, folded tight.

My thumb has left a smudge of pizza oil.

I keep the lie to get me through the night

before the meat begins to turn and spoil.