The Narrator and Miss Darlene

A barrage of sensual bullets
explodes inside my beer.

Life’s little lessons
tucked away
underneath lace lighters.

Stoplights go off
and I race through,
crashing headlong into a brick wall
lovingly named Miss Darlene.
She likes pancakes with her vodka,
But only after noon.

How do I know?
I think, therefore,
I forgot?

I’m pretty sure my name is Rodney.
Ask me later
after I finish my cigarette.
Who knows?
I could be dead by then,
But hell,
I could be dead right now.
Only time will tell.