between monday and friday courage grows
monday afternoon, southern comfort and coke and some un-
known poet's book of unknown poetry. the first dancer was dark-
skinned, red velvet wrapped around her breasts and sex, her
breasts pushing hard against the small cups. she bumped and
grinded and jumped and shook and tried to get inside of us all.
i wasn't buying it. she had the wrong smile. it was like no smile .
it was like hate with misplaced lips. a death mask grinning.
she ended her show in a revealing split.
the sc and coke were going down smooth. i read a few poems.
they weren't half bad. one about an old man in a hospital trying
to die with dignity. it was an old theme. but it had strength,
honour. it worked. the afternoon was going to be ok .
the second dancer came out of the darkness like all other dancers
before her receiving only a small spit of applause. young men
with fake i.d. 's and broken dreams. there were men who were
nothing more than dreams. shadows of dreams, wet dreams, old
dreams.
this second dancer made me put the poems away. put down my
drink. she smiled one of those "don't scold me, please hold
me" smiles that young girls can have. she had it all. the smile.
the eyes. the hair. the style. on any other woman her eyes
would have been crazy . lightning eyes crashing through the
darkness. she danced. she flowed from the hips in a not so differ-
ent from honey from the pot fashion. her breasts were small,
her legs long and solid. it all fit. she kept approaching a table
where three young boys were sitting. she had them hard and
anxious. their red faces caught in the blue bath of the lights.
the music ended just as she dropped her g-string. she kept
dancing. no one missed the music. when she stopped the
audience died. they screamed and yelled and promised great
things if only she'd come back on stage. i headed for the door. i
was frightened. i had seen her. the woman i would kill for. die
for. murder my mother for. she was perfect. hair that i could
wrap my soul in. eyes to catch my quickest breath. a mouth to
hold me tight.
i ran away from the bar. a drink still on my table. i was afraid of
her voice. i could not bear the thought of looking her in the eye.
i ran.
monday ended and friday came without much in-between. i went
back to the strip joint. i got myself a seat right up front. i had left
all my books at home. i wanted nothing to distract me. i wanted
to be pure.
i was into my third sc and coke when she came out. this time it
was different. the audience was waiting. as soon as she hit the
lights the thunder rolled in to meet the lightning in her smile.
the applause was so loud you could feel it. it was the heart beat
of some giant beast. the beast was lust.
she had it all. the audience went insane. men gone mad with
lust and desire were laying on the floor. she gave it all to them.
her eyes betrayed no one. her lips fulfilled every man's dreams
of kisses. she danced to embrace us all. she took off her clothes
and danced. she was totally naked, her body glowing like some
white hot phosphorus cloud. the music roaring. the audience
lost in frenzy. my drinks going down right, and then it happened.
she came to my table. she wasn't dancing any longer. this was
a death march. she was marching right into my soul. pulling it
out of me with her breasts. her legs, her sex. her eyes on mine.
i couldn't move. she was inches away. her eyes like iron bars
around my soul. it was hers. she could have it all. her eyes
stayed on mine. i was helpless. i was dead. i was alive. minutes
passed. she made love in front of me. her eyes didn't move. they
nailed me down. the music ended. she turned away to the
thunder. i heard her whisper "fuck they only want to look at my
eyes".
the lights came up. she was gone. the bar almost silent. what
was there to say. she had stolen the tongue of the audience. she
had ripped out their hearts. they were the lucky ones.
Copyright © michael dennis / Ordinary Press 1982
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