Picking Up the Tab

One, two, three, now
cough up the plastico
unscrew the pop-top
we don’t really have to
remember what’s sketched in
below a moon that’s always full
like the parking lot at Paradise
where we could skim a few
pesos off the top if we
weren’t on the bottom
punching in a PIN code that
rhymes w/luck
but can’t keep the wheels of
darkness from burning rubber
down the deserted highway
that tears right thru yr soul
to some other place you’d
rather not think about
right now