The Strip Club

The Strip Club



slender ballerina with no name

red garbage kicked on the floor

doused ammonia from last night’s leftovers

stumbling through those double doors

to a memory of some other time

Bedazzled tears cascade


the exit sign, a revolving door, the same thing


thoughts of last night spin into exile


its hard to scream

with a dollar bill

jammed down her throat


a large man approaches her

carrying green studded kites that wont fly

familiar is the color he brings

unfamiliar is the voice from his noise


she freezes slowly in his back seat


she eagerly awaits

for him to be done

and for the door

to open again


By: Bryan Matthew Boutwell /