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She paints on red lips while I adjust cleavage
Both trying to create something that isn’t there
But our secrets seem safe here in Manhattan.

We recognize the bartender from reality TV
before heading to the East Side, where
underground bars and grungy walls give
what “they” like to call “character.”

At bar number three we have found
what we wanted – hot men, and plenty.
But they are not really looking at us -

lost in conversation with each other.

The bathroom is unisex and lit by blacklight
and we squeeze two into a space for one -

look at the toilet – it is covered in red -

please say that’s paint
please say that’s paint
please say that’s paint

At bar number four there are no hot men
but we convince the bartender for free drinks
and a dance party after hours …

We stay out later than the subways
and we don’t know how to get back
to the Upper West Side.