Ice cream drips on my blouse...

Ice cream drips on my blouse.
Gnats stick to my syrupy lips,
wings tickle my nose; I sneeze.
Jonathan, my husband, walks ahead ignoring me.

Leggy Rosalie, in a chartreuse bikini,
dances in a wire cage, her tanned body
coiled around a pole, while she hisses
like the snake she imitates,
gyrating her shapely figure.

A man near the entrance yells,
"Tickets, get tickets here,
buy them now, show starts in five."

Men advance toward the entrance; women walk by.
Jonathan glances back with asking eyes,
I give him a side glance,
he walks forward, staring at the woman,
turns an ankle and falls down...

I walk ahead,
leave him with the red face.