for sale

he mistakes
the woman two stools down
at the quiet hotel bar
for someone who is interested
in him
romantically.
they talk. they flirt.
she moves closer to him,
touching his arm
then knee when they talk.
she laughs
at everything he says.
then yawns, tapping her mouth,
gets
up to leave,
she slides a matchbook cover
towards
him with her room
number on it.
he watches her walk out.
the tight skirt,
the hair
bouncing
around her shoulders,
the curves of her.
he goes to his room
to freshen up, calls his
wife to say
good night, stares at
himself in the mirror.
amazed that he still has it.
he dabs on
some cologne, buttons
up a fresh
shirt,
then call her room number.
are you a cop,
she says.
to which he says no,
i'm a salesman in town for
the convention.
well, good, she says, perhaps
you should come
up for a drink,
but first let me give you
my prices.