He leans back on the bar
Not really looking all that clever
But everyone seems to like him
Maybe he has something nobody can see.
He didn’t like the hunch
He didn’t like to fuck
He really didn’t like the things
She said to him in the truck.
He didn’t like the bitch in her
He didn’t like to fly
She asked him if he’d ever matured
But he didn’t like to cry.
When he saw her enter
He knew instantly she was something
More than what anyone else
Would have ever been.
But he didn’t like the way she talked
Or the way she said goodbye
The way she kissed him on the cheek
Then looked him in the eye.
He never called her by her name
He always called her ‘hunch’
Said it was like a nickname
With an extra little punch.
He goes up to talk to her
But looses his voice in the crowd
Then doesn’t really know
What to do after that.
He never liked the ways and means
The beginning, nor the end.
She said she’d like to stay in touch
But she didn’t really need a friend.