drinking a beer, watching a
less than attractive brunette try
to coerce dollars from the men
sitting around the stage.
Too bad she couldn’t dance a lick,
the only person tipping her
a weathered old man wearing
faded denim and a trucker’s cap
with a rebel flag on it.
That’s when I saw him,
an acquaintance from years before.
We met at a bachelor party for
a mutual friend, a sordid affair
where ten young males
drank themselves to oblivion
as we watched a stripper do things
to Life Savers and quarters that
none of us had ever seen before.
Remembering that started our
conversation, a talk about nothing
in particular, just as another duo
of less than average women
sauntered in front of us, ready
to dance. Then he made a proposal:
We would blow this place and
hit the town; I was driving, he
was buying. Of course I did what
any other young, red-blooded,
up-for-anything male would do;
I got ready to drive.