Roasting coffee beans with the flames
of my manuscript, I picture her perfect:
Almond-shaped honey eyes, polka dotted dress,
hair shoulder length and eyes eyes eyes shooting
and hips moving so tightly and drinking like
a champion, pickle back shots & Yuneglings,
playing & winning at bingo – winning already –
and soft lips and honey eyes the way you knew
they could look at you, those honey eyes eyes
eyes.
Before I went to the bar in the East Village that night
my boss took me to a famous strip club in Midtown
and we ordered bottle service and went upstairs
after each of us had selected our favorite girl.
He had this 18 year old blonde Russian, 5’ 10”
but only 110lbs, and decent tits too, but a really
great ass, size & shape of a WNBA basketball.
My first pick was stolen when I went to take a piss.
She was 5’ 2”, maybe 100lbs dripping wet,
high cheek bones & strong upper thighs that came
to a shelf of an ass, before sloping violently
to her lower back, which displayed two perfect dimples.
Her stripper bikini only touched three places:
string on hipbone, fabric on cusp of pelvis mound,
string on hipbone.
My second choice was a black girl with exactly the same
features, except darker & slightly exaggerated. Stronger
nipples protruding the sequin top, rounder ass,
bigger lips, deeper eyes. In the elevator she started talking
and talking and talking. She asked me how old I was
and commented to the other girl on how “I looked young”
and how she “didn’t want to do
anything illegal…”
Now I sit here remembering the girl with the eyes eyes eyes,
in polka dots and fire, thinking about how she is laying
next to some new guy who came along after me,
who made the right move sooner,
And I think to myself:
At least there was the Belarusian
wearing a blouse and garter and lingerie
who skipped her French lesson
to keep drinking with me
at the hotel bar on Fifth Ave,
and she ordered a bowl of cherries
and ripped the buttons off my shirt
and bit my neck so hard it bled,
so I took her down the street to a secluded doorway…
But tonight the irony of my ‘I ❤ NY’ coffee mug
is laughable,
as is the matching T-Shirt,
balled up in the closet for any female visitor
needing more comfortable clothes to sleep in.
The mutt of a cat I acquired from a Gypsy
who fled to Colorado is asleep on the bed.
I was told by the Gypsy that this cat protects
against evil spirits and bad energy.
There are times when the cat will stand
in front of her food dish for a good ten minutes,
just staring, not moving or blinking.
The Gypsy said she is probably seeing ghosts,
or maybe just existing in a different dimension
of consciousness.
Either seems likely to me,
so I just sit and watch.
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