STRIP CLUB
The room is dark
The music loud
The audience is tense
A woman appears
Takes small steps
On high heels
I look at her face
Eyes are empty
She begins to sway
But each step rehearsed
Routine
Without meaning
She counts the beat
As she removes her clothes
As a machine
No joy, no love, no life
I look at the crowd
They all look alike
Cold eyes
No signs of life
Of hope
Not even lust
She is finished
Naked
But no more revealed
Like nothing has touched her heart
I leave staggering
Like a survivor of a disaster
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.
This story is 102 words long.
Comments
this poem
says a lot
in a way that some poem
that was just a stack of lofty pronouncements never could;
stacatto flashes of imagery
and the calm voice of the observer
pointing us towards its point
what it feels
instead of clobbering us with oratory...
my kind of poem
~~hugs Laika
Well shit, I guess it really CAN happen here..,
.
Hey!
Don't knock it 'till you've tried it. Get the op, try it, then talk to me.
It strikes me as a stack of stereotypes.
Hugs and Bright Blessings,
Renee
Hugs and Bright Blessings,
Renee