At the Follies
Life is a gum-chewing stripper,
a favorite honky-tonk act.
She wears any costume you want,
or a headdress of bananas.
Ms. Life plays all roles,
from shy schoolgirl
to Mistress Wanda cracking her whip.
But she peels it all off.
She milks each minute---a vaudeville smoothy---
while voyeurs in raincoats swoon
on broken-down chairs.
Comes the time
all secrets are finally exposed.
a sweaty g-string tossed around a customer's neck.
Your neck, stupid. The climax is a prancing, pimply, sagging butt.
End of show.
Well schmuck, what did you expect---
a golden ass?
If you don't like it---leave,
go drop your shorts in your bathroom,
turn your head,
and gawk in the mirror.
And if you liked it,
get the hell out anyway.
One show per customer.
There's a long ticket-holder's line outside.
If you've any comments about this poem, Richard Fein would be pleased to hear from you.