On Six Inch Heels

She struts the stage, coyly, of the Cold Chrome Club,
somehow balanced on high six inch heels.
Lithely wrapping her limbs ‘round a stainless steel pole,
titillating whoever she feels.

It’s a busy night, here, at the Cold Chrome Club,
by eleven, her garter is stretched,
with 20’s and 5’s and 10’s and 1’s:
tips of the tawdry and wretched.

There’s a dank smell and smoke at the Cold Chrome Club;
a party for Saturday’s groom.
She will taunt him and tease him; take his sweaty hand;
lead him into the Champagne Room.

She struts the stage, coyly, of the Cold Chrome Club,
somehow balanced on high six inch heels.
Lithely wrapping her limbs ‘round the stainless steel pole,
titillating whoever she feels.

*****

She wakes from the fog of her latest lap dance,
Christmas morning, back home in her room.
Down the hall she hears Sis turn the stereo on,
Perry Como’s voice starting to croon.

From the kitchen comes smells of a holiday meal;
from the den — a cacophony,
Then into her room, runs her young nephew, screaming:
“Aunt Kim, look what Santa brought me!”

She will walk with her Dad, down to church today,
forgoing her high six inch heels.
Gently wrapping her arms ‘round her family and friends,
never saying how sinful she feels.

New Years Eve, she will dance at the Cold Chrome Club,
praying the truth is never revealed.
For she lives her life balanced, precariously,
on the arches of high six inch heels.

 

(Lede photo: Image by Nika Akin from Pixabay)