never moving forward

she said she was fifty-four,

but in the dull dimmed lights

of the bar,

it was hard to know.

i remember she had a round

bed

that went around and around

with the push of a button.

i nearly broke

my leg on it one night.

hit the stop button, i yelled

as my foot got tangled in the

pink sheets, and pillows.

my head striking the table

where she kept her wigs.

the needle was stuck on

night fever by the bee gees.

the record skipping on

the turn table, never

moving forward.