At the Myerson symphony hall,
she has to be seated by eight.
Twists and turns,
stairs and aisles and doors
lead nowhere;
hallways, the same.
Glass slippers killing
her bunions;
only usher in sight declares
latecomers must wait
for intermission.
Oh, f--- it,
she ditches her waiting prince.
This fairy’s goddaughter
hobbles to the bar,
throws back Scotch, a double,
and heads for Deep Ellum,
hoping to get laid.
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