Come dark
they slip in for their illicit liaisons,
orgies, and crumb fests,
squandering their youth
in a cardboard juke joint—
nymphs with big brown eyes
luring the males
winking their wings invitingly,
seductively lifting their satiny legs
shimmering in the moonlight.
Sticky with passion
they angle their shapely arms upward
partnering up for the long night ahead.
Wastrels,
careless of the consequences
partying like there’s no tomorrow
in an ecstasy of abandon
late, late into the darkness.

Come dawn their sated bodies lie
like litter on glue—
“they check in, but they can’t check out.”