She likes this one.
I can see it’s perked her up.
She was bored at the bar
on a Monday afternoon,
but now she’s dancing.
She doesn’t need to use her feet,
just hips, shoulders, 
and a smile.

If it was later I might tell her
I prefer Peter Green
to Lindsey Buckingham,
but I’m still sober enough
to know better.

Instead I say
I’ll have another pint,
though she’s already pulling it
before I’ve asked.

I’ll tell her some day,
but not today.
I’d only spoil her mood.

(Originally published in the Writers' Cafe webzine, 2018)