Crushed black velvet flattens around her pelvis
like a ravenous panther preparing to pounce in the night.
Cindy wore that evening gown;
Skinny outlines tempting me, begging to be filled in
by my choice of color; Covering up her obtrusive
Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help
looking Cindy up-and-down again-and-again.
Pink lips sparkle like sprinkles crusted on a chocolate cupcake,
freshly pulled out from her Easy-Bake.
Everything is sweetened by sequins to hide her imperfections.
She’s got a crooked tooth and a tiny scar beneath her brow—
but they only make her men cry out for more-and-more.
Green eyes glow fool’s gold; Mirroring every grinning ghoul
who offers to buy her a Martini, Mercedes, or Malibu Mansion.
She spots me in the corner under my vanilla fedora;
My head darting her direction every seventeen seconds.
Our eyes lock like a cheap Chinese finger trap.
Hands in my pocket, I play a private game of peek-a-boo with her.
She loves every minute and she wants me to come over.
Her brown hair blowing in the window tells me so.
And so I start my skulk across the dance floor—
My braided suede belt swaying back-and-forth,
bouncing my big metal buckle up-and-down.
She loves it. She wants it. She takes me by my bolo tie
and leads me to her powder room. We push our way
into a private booth, sliding the lock shut behind us.
Tiny as a cubicle, this is her office; Her place of trade.
The walls get hung ceiling to floor with Cindy and her diplomas,
demonstrating every degree of mastery she’s ever earned.
A true professional, she palms me her business card—
and then we’re done.
She leaves me bow legged and limping into back alleys,
looking like a true midnight cowboy.
Crushed black velvet shines spickle like the Milky Way.
Cindy showed me the far reaches of her universe that night.
It’s such a shame that I never even left the dance floor corner.

written on 11/29/2010 by: Matt Kane