the chicken ranch plan

let's go to a chicken
ranch
my friend jimmy suggests
after drinking
way too much beer
and being rejected by every
woman who came into the bar.
a chicken ranch, I say.
you mean a cat house.
whatever, he says.
cat house, chicken farm,
whatever it's called these days.
I need some affection.
how much money do you have?
we both take out
our cash and lay it
on the bar, counting
soggy ones,
and fives. some nickels
and dimes, pennies roll out,
making the bartender shake his head.
it adds up to thirteen
dollars and change.
not enough, jimmy says wistfully.
nope,
I say.
but we could get a chicken
sandwich somewhere
and cup of coffee.