(Curtain, and stage right: sounds of ecstasy)
Harlequin angel, transitive
victim, desire’s recent refugee
strokes a dry palm on the smooth, black belt
discards dimples at the corners
flashes pink and white to show
without a doubt, handsome, we’re down to business
unasked, unbound, unafraid,
under any pretense that can be contrived
Don’t give yourself up to naked intimacy.
A glance askance behind domino eyes,
says, I’m so totally coming to your place for dinner!
Alright, but, I don’t know, you’re twenty years younger —
Whatever. I don’t see any other hotties
trying to pick you up in the express checkout line.
There’s that look —
Hold my spot; I’ll go grab a another steak, some wine …
chuckle as you waddle back to the cold case, sweet
visions of the slick carnal web you’re sure to cast
for the mere price of burned meat,
Don’t fly a white flag to sex-starved expediency.
(Curtain, entre act, the café is out of decent white wine)
You think she was serious, partner?
Go ahead and wait,
I call last laugh.
Why don’t you go back to your place,
at the end of the line,
whip yourself with that belt, you deserve it.
(Curtain, white spot, center stage)
Under any pretense that she can derive
unasked, unfettered, unafraid,
mouths any promise, persuades
without a doubt, dreamer, she’s doing business.
Strokes a rough palm on the hard, flat belt
discards a dimpled smile…
abandoned harlequin, desire’s
recent transitive victim, angelic refugee
Life is too short to expect divine immediacy.
(Red spot and curtain: stage left, sounds of a hammer driving nails)