I Should've Followed You Home

I should've followed you home
we ended up in a red and black bar that played swing.
we danced; a bald guy with a single dreadlock asked my number to play uku together
the other american met a handless guy dressed up like a gangster;

Maureen decided to hit the Concha
i didn't have a clue, i was blurred, i was listless, i was helpless
i left the other american with another american that had come along

on the way there
i hurdled thoughts of blame
culpable demons as:
"why did I leave with the married couple,
i should've stayed with the other american that i like."
the full set
and its contrary:
"...maybe the other american isn't so fond of me, though"

but then again, in the redness and darkness of the red/black bar
she had held my hand, and we had danced
and she had smiled.

i also thought
of when she said: "let's not talk in english anymore"
which i had interpreted like a "stay out of my face"
but now
it seemed like she had done it to exclude the other american
although, if be like this, why did she ever call him?

of course, he called her.
I should've stayed there
she didn't like that puffy blond, but was way too sweet to say no.

at that hour, it was way too much for me to see through that last bottle of Voll-Damm.

I crashed on the couch, wrapped in the dog's blanket. hiding from the culprit demons.

I should've followed you home