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
though,
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
terrified
she eagerly awaits
for him to be done
and for the door
to open again
By: Bryan Matthew Boutwell / LiveFiction.net
