She has a fairly large tattoo
Of an orange dragon
On her lower back.
When she’s bent over
In front of me
Moving
That dragon starts breathing fire
Digging his talons
Deeper into her skin
As he unfolds and spreads his wings.
In the morning
When it’s quiet again
And I wake up
She’s still sleeping.
I can pet him
And rub him under his chin.
He purrs
Like an idling
Custom chrome engine.
Some time passes
And he falls asleep as well
Curled up
Like a pit bull
Upon the back of his owner.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Slightly Out Of Tune Firewood
My daughter stands
And plays the beat up
Finger, knuckle and elbow worn
Slightly out of tune
Vagabond
Back of the Gypsy wagon
Upright player piano
That I chanced upon
Years ago
At the curb
In front of the hippie florist
Across the river
From where I live.
I asked the colourful, lively owner
About it
And he coyly told me to take it
That I could have it for free.
“Just take it sweetie.”
He said in an effeminate voice.
“Happy to see it
Get a home
And a new life.”
I had a van at the time
And retrieved some heavy wooden planks
And two good friends.
We had no idea how heavy
That son of a bitch was.
I kept telling them that it was free
Trying to console them
But it was a huge ordeal
Just getting it loaded
Into the van.
It was an old Lester out of Philadelphia.
A Steinway wouldn’t have been at the curb
Would it?
It’s made of solid heavy mahogany
A rough looking beauty.
It bruised my soft pine floors
As we pushed and pulled it into place
Where it now sits in my living room
Vermont white pine
Permanently scarred.
The player mechanism never worked.
A few of the keys don’t work either
Emitting a soft thud
As the action fails to respond.
Two or three of them sit there
Halfway down
Derelict and silent.
In all of these years
I’ve had far greater obligations
Than to have a tuner
Come by the house and fix it.
Surely the technician would arrive
Have a good laugh
And provide me with the recommendation
That it would make better firewood.
I would inform him that it was free
And that my fireplace
Doesn’t work either...
Can he do anything about that?
Firewood would be useless to me.
At least the piano works.
My daughter plays
The dark mahogany Lester piano
In the living room
Somehow missing the ‘dead’ keys.
She’s singing as well
Her voice
Sure and strong
Whirling
Like small helicopters
Above the melody
Coming from the instrument.
The piano sounds
Exactly as it should.
I am still.
I listen.
She plays
Giving it her all
Not knowing
That
Someday...
And it will happen...
The old piano will sit silent...
Then...
I know
I will be chopping the piano up
To pieces
Wires snapping
Wood splitting
Ivory chipping.
I will be too old to go through the trouble
Of moving a complete intact Lester piano
Across soft pine floors
And through narrow doorways.
I envision it now
While she is playing her song.
This dark mahogany instrument will sit at the curb
In pieces
With a handmade sign
That says
“Free firewood.”
And plays the beat up
Finger, knuckle and elbow worn
Slightly out of tune
Vagabond
Back of the Gypsy wagon
Upright player piano
That I chanced upon
Years ago
At the curb
In front of the hippie florist
Across the river
From where I live.
I asked the colourful, lively owner
About it
And he coyly told me to take it
That I could have it for free.
“Just take it sweetie.”
He said in an effeminate voice.
“Happy to see it
Get a home
And a new life.”
I had a van at the time
And retrieved some heavy wooden planks
And two good friends.
We had no idea how heavy
That son of a bitch was.
I kept telling them that it was free
Trying to console them
But it was a huge ordeal
Just getting it loaded
Into the van.
It was an old Lester out of Philadelphia.
A Steinway wouldn’t have been at the curb
Would it?
It’s made of solid heavy mahogany
A rough looking beauty.
It bruised my soft pine floors
As we pushed and pulled it into place
Where it now sits in my living room
Vermont white pine
Permanently scarred.
The player mechanism never worked.
A few of the keys don’t work either
Emitting a soft thud
As the action fails to respond.
Two or three of them sit there
Halfway down
Derelict and silent.
In all of these years
I’ve had far greater obligations
Than to have a tuner
Come by the house and fix it.
Surely the technician would arrive
Have a good laugh
And provide me with the recommendation
That it would make better firewood.
I would inform him that it was free
And that my fireplace
Doesn’t work either...
Can he do anything about that?
Firewood would be useless to me.
At least the piano works.
My daughter plays
The dark mahogany Lester piano
In the living room
Somehow missing the ‘dead’ keys.
She’s singing as well
Her voice
Sure and strong
Whirling
Like small helicopters
Above the melody
Coming from the instrument.
The piano sounds
Exactly as it should.
I am still.
I listen.
She plays
Giving it her all
Not knowing
That
Someday...
And it will happen...
The old piano will sit silent...
Then...
I know
I will be chopping the piano up
To pieces
Wires snapping
Wood splitting
Ivory chipping.
I will be too old to go through the trouble
Of moving a complete intact Lester piano
Across soft pine floors
And through narrow doorways.
I envision it now
While she is playing her song.
This dark mahogany instrument will sit at the curb
In pieces
With a handmade sign
That says
“Free firewood.”
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The Grey Creature
There is a woman that visits
When I’m home alone.
She doesn’t knock.
She just let’s herself in without my permission.
She arrives uninvited.
It could be night or day.
She’s not a very pretty woman
And her conversations make me feel tired and sad.
She fills the room with a stale musty smell
And I don’t want to get up
But I do
To open the windows
Hoping to extinguish her.
The window frames are old
A struggle to open
But I do so
Cursing
The quirky dry wooden frames
With the rattling glass.
She is colorless
Like an old photo
But lacks the nostalgia.
There is no charm.
Just the heaviness
Of a scratch covered glass paperweight.
She helps herself
To my booze and cigarettes
Starting with a glass
All ladylike...
Then at some point
Drinking straight from the bottle.
The ashtray fills as my pack empties
And I’ve had but one of them.
I want her to leave.
But
As always
She overstays.
It must be her job.
I think that she visits me
Just to make sure that I get absolutely nothing done.
That
The plants don’t get watered
The bills don’t get paid
The dishes sit in the sink.
The house doesn’t get vacuumed
The bed doesn’t get made.
Words don’t even get written.
The ancient cat sits about licking her ass
Not a care in the world
While the dogs turn in circles
And wonder
When they are going to be fed
Next.
They do not even smell the grey creature
Sitting on the sofa
Next to me
That causes the hours to go by
Without a whimper
A growl
Or a bark.
When I’m home alone.
She doesn’t knock.
She just let’s herself in without my permission.
She arrives uninvited.
It could be night or day.
She’s not a very pretty woman
And her conversations make me feel tired and sad.
She fills the room with a stale musty smell
And I don’t want to get up
But I do
To open the windows
Hoping to extinguish her.
The window frames are old
A struggle to open
But I do so
Cursing
The quirky dry wooden frames
With the rattling glass.
She is colorless
Like an old photo
But lacks the nostalgia.
There is no charm.
Just the heaviness
Of a scratch covered glass paperweight.
She helps herself
To my booze and cigarettes
Starting with a glass
All ladylike...
Then at some point
Drinking straight from the bottle.
The ashtray fills as my pack empties
And I’ve had but one of them.
I want her to leave.
But
As always
She overstays.
It must be her job.
I think that she visits me
Just to make sure that I get absolutely nothing done.
That
The plants don’t get watered
The bills don’t get paid
The dishes sit in the sink.
The house doesn’t get vacuumed
The bed doesn’t get made.
Words don’t even get written.
The ancient cat sits about licking her ass
Not a care in the world
While the dogs turn in circles
And wonder
When they are going to be fed
Next.
They do not even smell the grey creature
Sitting on the sofa
Next to me
That causes the hours to go by
Without a whimper
A growl
Or a bark.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Dipshit
“Jesus!”
“You sunuvabitch motherfucker!”
I hadn’t seen him in a week...
Maybe
A week and a half.
I barely knew him.
But there he was.
He didn’t answer
As he was sprawled out unconcious
Spiked leather jacket still on
With his balls hanging out of the side of
Soiled boxers.
His boots were still on and tied.
This is what I was confronted with when
I arrived at my apartment
To find THIS guy...
“Dipshit”
Passed out on my couch.
I poked around.
He broke into my third floor apartment
On 25th street
Through the bathroom window.
Somehow he got up the fire escape.
Trashcans I’m guessing.
Then navigated his way
Across the hot tar roof
To my bathroom window.
He obviously knew the layout.
I met him a week or so earlier
At a hardcore show
And I let him crash at my place
Because he was on the lamb.
I think he was from Chicago
Or Detroit
And was travelling the East Coast.
That was a big mistake.
He found my gear
Not so carefully hidden
In the top drawer
Of my dresser.
You’d think it might be the first place to look
But he did a good job of tearing my place apart
Eventually finding it
And now he was loaded
On my tab.
I didn’t share my gear with anyone.
Aids was just becoming an epidemic
And as wreckless as I could be
I was very careful about that.
I had just gotten off of work
And climbed the clinical smelling stairway
Of my building.
I had no idea why it smelled like that.
I was used to it.
I had lived there for two years.
There was a CPA on the first floor
And a dude that I rarely ran into
That I think was afraid of me
On the second.
I never saw anyone swabbing the decks at 25th street
But that hallway was pristine spit shine clean
And smelled like a hospital.
Anyways
I entered my apartment
And there he was.
Dipshit.
That was his name.
I remembered that.
His ‘Punk Rawk’ name.
Lots of kids had names.
They either made them up themselves
Or were endowed them
By their circle of friends.
His name fit him like a latex condom.
I kicked his boot.
Nothing.
I started cleaning up.
The asshole trashed some of my favorite records.
I got his shit together and threw it out of
The front window
Onto
The sidewalk below.
I was pissed.
I went over to the sofa
Grabbed his boots by the ankles
And pulled him off hard.
He barely stirred.
Tired.
“Wha...tha...fuck...”
I dragged him across the floor
To the door that led to the stairs.
“What are you...doing...?”
“I’m dragging your sorry ass down to the street!”
I started pulling him down the stairs
Like a heavy bag of garbage.
Thump, thump, thump...
“I needed a place to stay!”
He said.
“You broke into my apartment, went through my shit, got high on my shit and you think
that’s okay?”
“You fucked up my favorite records asshole!”
Thump, thump, thump...
“Stop! Dude! I thought you were punk rock. I thought you were down. Turns out you’re
just like everyone else...”
I started beating the shit out of him
Right then and there.
“Here’s punk rock asshole!”
“I’ll give you punk rock!”
He was bleeding
All over the disinfected stairs.
“Either you walk down or I’m dragging your ass down the rest of the way.”
He was limp
But started to move
Slowly.
He felt his way
A step at a time.
It took a bit
But I watched him
Crawl
Down the stairs
And take his
Punk ass
Outside.
“You sunuvabitch motherfucker!”
I hadn’t seen him in a week...
Maybe
A week and a half.
I barely knew him.
But there he was.
He didn’t answer
As he was sprawled out unconcious
Spiked leather jacket still on
With his balls hanging out of the side of
Soiled boxers.
His boots were still on and tied.
This is what I was confronted with when
I arrived at my apartment
To find THIS guy...
“Dipshit”
Passed out on my couch.
I poked around.
He broke into my third floor apartment
On 25th street
Through the bathroom window.
Somehow he got up the fire escape.
Trashcans I’m guessing.
Then navigated his way
Across the hot tar roof
To my bathroom window.
He obviously knew the layout.
I met him a week or so earlier
At a hardcore show
And I let him crash at my place
Because he was on the lamb.
I think he was from Chicago
Or Detroit
And was travelling the East Coast.
That was a big mistake.
He found my gear
Not so carefully hidden
In the top drawer
Of my dresser.
You’d think it might be the first place to look
But he did a good job of tearing my place apart
Eventually finding it
And now he was loaded
On my tab.
I didn’t share my gear with anyone.
Aids was just becoming an epidemic
And as wreckless as I could be
I was very careful about that.
I had just gotten off of work
And climbed the clinical smelling stairway
Of my building.
I had no idea why it smelled like that.
I was used to it.
I had lived there for two years.
There was a CPA on the first floor
And a dude that I rarely ran into
That I think was afraid of me
On the second.
I never saw anyone swabbing the decks at 25th street
But that hallway was pristine spit shine clean
And smelled like a hospital.
Anyways
I entered my apartment
And there he was.
Dipshit.
That was his name.
I remembered that.
His ‘Punk Rawk’ name.
Lots of kids had names.
They either made them up themselves
Or were endowed them
By their circle of friends.
His name fit him like a latex condom.
I kicked his boot.
Nothing.
I started cleaning up.
The asshole trashed some of my favorite records.
I got his shit together and threw it out of
The front window
Onto
The sidewalk below.
I was pissed.
I went over to the sofa
Grabbed his boots by the ankles
And pulled him off hard.
He barely stirred.
Tired.
“Wha...tha...fuck...”
I dragged him across the floor
To the door that led to the stairs.
“What are you...doing...?”
“I’m dragging your sorry ass down to the street!”
I started pulling him down the stairs
Like a heavy bag of garbage.
Thump, thump, thump...
“I needed a place to stay!”
He said.
“You broke into my apartment, went through my shit, got high on my shit and you think
that’s okay?”
“You fucked up my favorite records asshole!”
Thump, thump, thump...
“Stop! Dude! I thought you were punk rock. I thought you were down. Turns out you’re
just like everyone else...”
I started beating the shit out of him
Right then and there.
“Here’s punk rock asshole!”
“I’ll give you punk rock!”
He was bleeding
All over the disinfected stairs.
“Either you walk down or I’m dragging your ass down the rest of the way.”
He was limp
But started to move
Slowly.
He felt his way
A step at a time.
It took a bit
But I watched him
Crawl
Down the stairs
And take his
Punk ass
Outside.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Witness To An Oracle
Cloud vapors
As thin as digits
Stretched
Pulling like melting elastic
Across
The lamplight
Of the moon
To lose their grasp
Disconnecting
To continue slowly
Across
The night’s sky
Reading the stars
Like braille.
As thin as digits
Stretched
Pulling like melting elastic
Across
The lamplight
Of the moon
To lose their grasp
Disconnecting
To continue slowly
Across
The night’s sky
Reading the stars
Like braille.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Judy Garland
My neighbor looks like a
Toothless Robert Dinero.
He’s an old union man.
He sits in his yard
And I in mine
Beers and ciggies in hand
Talking through the chain link
About jazz
And old west wars.
He collects books and cameras and weird shit.
He says he loves Judy Garland
But interjects
That he’s not queer or anything.
I took a long drag
And assured him that I never thought so.
Then I found a back issue of Vanity Fair
That had an article about Garland’s
Live At Carnegie Hall recording
And I showed it to him.
I thought he would weep
Right there in front of me
As the Philly sun
Baked the concrete
Around us.
Toothless Robert Dinero.
He’s an old union man.
He sits in his yard
And I in mine
Beers and ciggies in hand
Talking through the chain link
About jazz
And old west wars.
He collects books and cameras and weird shit.
He says he loves Judy Garland
But interjects
That he’s not queer or anything.
I took a long drag
And assured him that I never thought so.
Then I found a back issue of Vanity Fair
That had an article about Garland’s
Live At Carnegie Hall recording
And I showed it to him.
I thought he would weep
Right there in front of me
As the Philly sun
Baked the concrete
Around us.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Fishing
I just had a thought...
I remember that day
When we had a picnic at the end of the wharf
The perfect circle of the sun
Making our skin warm to touch
And our smiles bigger.
We sat on the hard concrete of the pier
With our legs dangling over the side
Bait for a high jumping fish.
And I loved the smell of you
As it mixed with the salty air
Your voice chorused the broken-glassed waves
And the hollow music of the factories around us.
We sat on the soft blanket
Drinking wine and laughing
And I don’t even think a fish
From a Hollywood movie
Could’ve reached us then.
I remember that day
When we had a picnic at the end of the wharf
The perfect circle of the sun
Making our skin warm to touch
And our smiles bigger.
We sat on the hard concrete of the pier
With our legs dangling over the side
Bait for a high jumping fish.
And I loved the smell of you
As it mixed with the salty air
Your voice chorused the broken-glassed waves
And the hollow music of the factories around us.
We sat on the soft blanket
Drinking wine and laughing
And I don’t even think a fish
From a Hollywood movie
Could’ve reached us then.
Bloo
Sweet-tempered currents
Dragging fingers lightly
Over the arched back
Of driftwood and broken shells
On the beach
At San German
Sending shivering ripples
Up the waterline.
Apothecary glass sky
In a magnificent contrast
Brushing the hair
Of tall feathery sun-bleached grains
On acres of secreted farmland
Stumbled upon by chance
On a hike
Deep within
Hunterdon County.
An instinctual
Sweep of the hand
Under the soft pale of pillow
Early in the morning
To reveal
The azure
Of lace panties
From a lover
Hidden there
Like a pearl
Just below the surface
Of a dark lagoon
Surrounded by Mangroves.
Dragging fingers lightly
Over the arched back
Of driftwood and broken shells
On the beach
At San German
Sending shivering ripples
Up the waterline.
Apothecary glass sky
In a magnificent contrast
Brushing the hair
Of tall feathery sun-bleached grains
On acres of secreted farmland
Stumbled upon by chance
On a hike
Deep within
Hunterdon County.
An instinctual
Sweep of the hand
Under the soft pale of pillow
Early in the morning
To reveal
The azure
Of lace panties
From a lover
Hidden there
Like a pearl
Just below the surface
Of a dark lagoon
Surrounded by Mangroves.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
There’s Beauty in Age
Today
I saw an old queen
Walking the streets of my town
Out of drag
In a black tank blouse
Low waist jeans
And sandals.
His waist was kind of pastey white doughy
And I thought it odd
That his jeans were cropped in a ‘V’
Cauliflowered flesh blooming
Right above his pelvis
As I drove past.
I glided by slowly
As anyone would
And noticed
He was wearing
A black thong
Hiked up high above his hips
Pinching that Pillsbury flesh.
I wanted to take a picture of him
So I drove around the block.
Then I realized.
I’m not so far behind him.
Twenty years.
People are gonna think I’m odd
For sure.
I might not be wearing 'V' cut jeans
Or a thong
Or a blouse even
But I will be an odd one to behold
When I’m trying to hold it together
With what I got
Before I kick in
The door of death.
No cameras please.
I saw an old queen
Walking the streets of my town
Out of drag
In a black tank blouse
Low waist jeans
And sandals.
His waist was kind of pastey white doughy
And I thought it odd
That his jeans were cropped in a ‘V’
Cauliflowered flesh blooming
Right above his pelvis
As I drove past.
I glided by slowly
As anyone would
And noticed
He was wearing
A black thong
Hiked up high above his hips
Pinching that Pillsbury flesh.
I wanted to take a picture of him
So I drove around the block.
Then I realized.
I’m not so far behind him.
Twenty years.
People are gonna think I’m odd
For sure.
I might not be wearing 'V' cut jeans
Or a thong
Or a blouse even
But I will be an odd one to behold
When I’m trying to hold it together
With what I got
Before I kick in
The door of death.
No cameras please.
Things Get Broken
You had to leave.
And the bread
Got moldy.
Things went awry.
Shit went inexplicably crazy.
The cream cheese went bad
And the cereal went stale.
The dishwasher died first.
Then the fridge.
A fucking $4,000 refrigerator
And I spent $1,200 getting it fixed.
I had no choice.
I still wash dishes by hand
Two years later.
The dishwasher sits there
Like a skeleton
Amongst many.
The garden became overgrown.
I couldn’t do it all.
The trees that I questioned you about
When you were planting them
Have grown huge
And I’m going to have to take a
Godamn chainsaw to them
Because they’re overshadowing
The rest of the garden and killing everything.
The bamboo that you HAD to plant
Has got the neighbors really pissed off
Because they’re dealing with a foe
With hacksaws
Clippers
And shovels
I can hear them cursing
Everytime they are in their backyards.
The dogs have fleas
And get walked once a day.
I’m losing my hair
And getting rashes on my skin
Trying to save this house.
My body doesn’t like the stress.
My car just got swiped.
Hit and run.
Took out the mirror
And damaged the door panel
And front fender.
When does it end?
The washer just died.
I’m doing laundry at the laundromat.
$2.50 a wash.
$2.00 to dry.
I have a washer and dryer
Just waiting to be exchanged
For something that works.
But I can’t afford it.
I work.
I work, I work, I work.
I just need something to fucking work
Around here
Besides me.
It’s 101 degrees out today.
The air conditioner in my car
Is blowing hot air.
I’m hoping it just needs to be juiced.
The digital thermometer in the car
Flashes 101 degrees.
It’s right there in front of me.
The damn thing works.
And the bread
Got moldy.
Things went awry.
Shit went inexplicably crazy.
The cream cheese went bad
And the cereal went stale.
The dishwasher died first.
Then the fridge.
A fucking $4,000 refrigerator
And I spent $1,200 getting it fixed.
I had no choice.
I still wash dishes by hand
Two years later.
The dishwasher sits there
Like a skeleton
Amongst many.
The garden became overgrown.
I couldn’t do it all.
The trees that I questioned you about
When you were planting them
Have grown huge
And I’m going to have to take a
Godamn chainsaw to them
Because they’re overshadowing
The rest of the garden and killing everything.
The bamboo that you HAD to plant
Has got the neighbors really pissed off
Because they’re dealing with a foe
With hacksaws
Clippers
And shovels
I can hear them cursing
Everytime they are in their backyards.
The dogs have fleas
And get walked once a day.
I’m losing my hair
And getting rashes on my skin
Trying to save this house.
My body doesn’t like the stress.
My car just got swiped.
Hit and run.
Took out the mirror
And damaged the door panel
And front fender.
When does it end?
The washer just died.
I’m doing laundry at the laundromat.
$2.50 a wash.
$2.00 to dry.
I have a washer and dryer
Just waiting to be exchanged
For something that works.
But I can’t afford it.
I work.
I work, I work, I work.
I just need something to fucking work
Around here
Besides me.
It’s 101 degrees out today.
The air conditioner in my car
Is blowing hot air.
I’m hoping it just needs to be juiced.
The digital thermometer in the car
Flashes 101 degrees.
It’s right there in front of me.
The damn thing works.
A Date With The Devil’s Daughters
I’d never been out with triplets before.
First time for everything.
We were all getting cozy
In one of the small booths
In the VIP section
Of ‘Heads And Tails’
A schlock-glitzy strip club
Overlooking the river
At the edge of the city.
It looked like Liberace lived here
Lights and sparkling reflective things everywhere
And with the amount of perfume
Hanging in the air
It smelled like it too.
It was the girls’ idea...
To come here.
They all shouted out in unison
When I asked them what they wanted to do.
“Strip Club!”
They had the devil in their eyes...
Genetics, I suppose.
They picked ‘Heads And Tails’
Because it had the word ‘Tails’ in it
And this got them crazy.
I had to explain to them
That they probably wouldn’t see
‘That kind of tail’ here.
Everywhere we went
The three of them turned heads
Sucking the souls out of men that still had them
Like soda through a straw
From the bottom of a cup.
I watched it happen...
Men crumpling to the sidewalk.
They were virtually identical in appearance
And they used that to their advantage
Playing impish jokes on myself
Or others...
Especially in the dark erotic glow of the gentleman’s club.
They were responsible for getting us
Into the VIP.
They were hot.
Not just temperature wise...
The tattooed stallion bouncer
Turned into boy putty
Under their hard gaze
Immediately ushering us to our booth
Forgetting speech and vocabulary
And good grammar
Barely uttering a cohesive word...
One of them,
Calliope I think,
Put her fingers up to the side of his mouth
Catching some drool forming
And brought it down
Wiping it on his shirt
In one graceful sweep.
A few minutes later
A dark wooden box
Was brought to the table.
The girls were squirming in their seats excitedly
Awash in neon and pulsing lasers.
An exotic Suicide Girl
In flourescent pink and orange lingerie with five inch patent pumps
And electrical tape pasties over her nipples
Opened the box
And lifted out a crystal bottle of
Gran Patron Burdeos
From the velvet interior
For the girls to approve.
The daughters clapped adoringly
Showing big smiles
And perfectly white teeth.
I felt multiple hands squeezing my thighs.
The waitress opened the bottle using the special corkscrew provided
And filled four leaded shot glasses
With the caramel brew.
“To us!”
They cheered.
“To ‘REAL’ beautiful tails.”
I said
Winking.
Our glasses clinked.
The girls were seasoned
And sipped the agave.
“Mmmmmmmmssss...”
Went around the table.
I flirted with them each and all...
Calliope, Sanibel and Anastasia
Though she liked to be called
“Little Tijuana”
When her father wasn’t around.
She was probably the biggest trouble maker
Of the three.
The tequila drew shorter
The booth got smaller.
Dark shadowed patrons sent drinks over
To our table.
Goth girl got cozy next to Sanibel.
Things were really heating up.
The girls wanted to dance
So the five of us swayed over to the stage
The whites of one hundred pairs of eyes following us.
They pulled me up into the thumping dance beat
And flashing light show
Squirming against me
Writhing
Twisting
Rubbing...
Other strippers came out
And joined our troupe.
The heat from the lights
Warmed the smell of baby oil
Perfume
And female skin.
People were cheering
Throwing money on stage
As small pieces of clothing came off
And body parts were exposed
Three tails slipping in and out of vision.
Strong joints were passed around.
Good Advice...
And it looked like a fog machine
Had been triggered on stage
As bodies moved to the
Bumpty-bump-bump-bump...
The DJ played good music.
A mix of deep house, hip hop, latin and funk.
More and more people came up on stage
To join the party
Shaking their asses
Grinding
Getting down.
Later
The triplets pulled my head down simultaneously
And whispered into my ears at once
“Baby, we wanna go to the next thing!”
They led me through the crowd
Grabbing Suicide Girl on the way.
Back at the booth
As the girls got their stuff together
I was treated to the largest bill I had ever incurred in my life.
I got dizzy looking at it
Close to passing out.
“Don’t worry baby, it’s gonna be worth it! We’ve got plans for you!”
Little Tijuana said
“Let’s pay the check and get out of here!”
I handed our newest table girl my card
Keeping my fingers crossed
As I watched her naked ass strut away.
I knew my fate was sealed hours earlier
As the Devil firmly took my hand
And pulled me in close to him
Commanding me to
“Show his girls a good time”.
The table girl returned with my card
And a receipt to sign.
I knew what I was doing.
With little hesitation
I looked at those ravishing, mischievious girls smiling
As pen touched paper
And proposed
“Cheers!”
“To ‘REAL’ beautiful tails!”
First time for everything.
We were all getting cozy
In one of the small booths
In the VIP section
Of ‘Heads And Tails’
A schlock-glitzy strip club
Overlooking the river
At the edge of the city.
It looked like Liberace lived here
Lights and sparkling reflective things everywhere
And with the amount of perfume
Hanging in the air
It smelled like it too.
It was the girls’ idea...
To come here.
They all shouted out in unison
When I asked them what they wanted to do.
“Strip Club!”
They had the devil in their eyes...
Genetics, I suppose.
They picked ‘Heads And Tails’
Because it had the word ‘Tails’ in it
And this got them crazy.
I had to explain to them
That they probably wouldn’t see
‘That kind of tail’ here.
Everywhere we went
The three of them turned heads
Sucking the souls out of men that still had them
Like soda through a straw
From the bottom of a cup.
I watched it happen...
Men crumpling to the sidewalk.
They were virtually identical in appearance
And they used that to their advantage
Playing impish jokes on myself
Or others...
Especially in the dark erotic glow of the gentleman’s club.
They were responsible for getting us
Into the VIP.
They were hot.
Not just temperature wise...
The tattooed stallion bouncer
Turned into boy putty
Under their hard gaze
Immediately ushering us to our booth
Forgetting speech and vocabulary
And good grammar
Barely uttering a cohesive word...
One of them,
Calliope I think,
Put her fingers up to the side of his mouth
Catching some drool forming
And brought it down
Wiping it on his shirt
In one graceful sweep.
A few minutes later
A dark wooden box
Was brought to the table.
The girls were squirming in their seats excitedly
Awash in neon and pulsing lasers.
An exotic Suicide Girl
In flourescent pink and orange lingerie with five inch patent pumps
And electrical tape pasties over her nipples
Opened the box
And lifted out a crystal bottle of
Gran Patron Burdeos
From the velvet interior
For the girls to approve.
The daughters clapped adoringly
Showing big smiles
And perfectly white teeth.
I felt multiple hands squeezing my thighs.
The waitress opened the bottle using the special corkscrew provided
And filled four leaded shot glasses
With the caramel brew.
“To us!”
They cheered.
“To ‘REAL’ beautiful tails.”
I said
Winking.
Our glasses clinked.
The girls were seasoned
And sipped the agave.
“Mmmmmmmmssss...”
Went around the table.
I flirted with them each and all...
Calliope, Sanibel and Anastasia
Though she liked to be called
“Little Tijuana”
When her father wasn’t around.
She was probably the biggest trouble maker
Of the three.
The tequila drew shorter
The booth got smaller.
Dark shadowed patrons sent drinks over
To our table.
Goth girl got cozy next to Sanibel.
Things were really heating up.
The girls wanted to dance
So the five of us swayed over to the stage
The whites of one hundred pairs of eyes following us.
They pulled me up into the thumping dance beat
And flashing light show
Squirming against me
Writhing
Twisting
Rubbing...
Other strippers came out
And joined our troupe.
The heat from the lights
Warmed the smell of baby oil
Perfume
And female skin.
People were cheering
Throwing money on stage
As small pieces of clothing came off
And body parts were exposed
Three tails slipping in and out of vision.
Strong joints were passed around.
Good Advice...
And it looked like a fog machine
Had been triggered on stage
As bodies moved to the
Bumpty-bump-bump-bump...
The DJ played good music.
A mix of deep house, hip hop, latin and funk.
More and more people came up on stage
To join the party
Shaking their asses
Grinding
Getting down.
Later
The triplets pulled my head down simultaneously
And whispered into my ears at once
“Baby, we wanna go to the next thing!”
They led me through the crowd
Grabbing Suicide Girl on the way.
Back at the booth
As the girls got their stuff together
I was treated to the largest bill I had ever incurred in my life.
I got dizzy looking at it
Close to passing out.
“Don’t worry baby, it’s gonna be worth it! We’ve got plans for you!”
Little Tijuana said
“Let’s pay the check and get out of here!”
I handed our newest table girl my card
Keeping my fingers crossed
As I watched her naked ass strut away.
I knew my fate was sealed hours earlier
As the Devil firmly took my hand
And pulled me in close to him
Commanding me to
“Show his girls a good time”.
The table girl returned with my card
And a receipt to sign.
I knew what I was doing.
With little hesitation
I looked at those ravishing, mischievious girls smiling
As pen touched paper
And proposed
“Cheers!”
“To ‘REAL’ beautiful tails!”
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