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I stuffed the last french fry in my mouth,
slid off the stool and started dancin.
The juke box wailed behind me keeping rythm.
"Over heah! sistah" a voice spoke out.
"C'mon girl get yoah dancing feet on!"
I began to twist, cause Chubby Checker
tole me to.
My little legs gyratin and my hips popping.
""Go on girl!' another voice, this one from a
big ole black man with a yella straw hat.
He looked like Santa Claus, with his big belly,
but he smelled like cigars, and Santa don't smoke.
"C'mon!" he said, clappin his hands to the beat.
"Let me see you shake it like your sistah Kate."
But I kept on dancin my way, cause I didn't have no sistah Kate,
just a brother named Billy.
Only he don't like it when you call em that.
"Call me Bill," he would say. "Cause I'm a man!"
"You ain't no man! You a boy!" I said, and he doubled up his fist and hit me,
cause he saw daddy do that to another man for callin him boy.
Chubby Checker kept singin and I kept dancin, twistin all the way to the ground, like a screw driver was in the top of my head.
Down to the floor and all the way back,
cause I was double jointed and my knees could take it.
"Shake it l'il mama" another voice shouted
and I wished I had on this dress I seen in a movie.
This dress with all these strings hanging from it,
momma called em fringes.
"Could I have a dress like that?"
"When you grow up you can."
"A red one mama?!"
"Any color you like" she smiled.
She stood by the juke box holding the last bit of my hamburger.
Billy kept trying to take it n she slapped his hand,
his face drooped and he sat there pouting his lip hangin down
far e'nuff to trip over.
The bus driver let out a big burp just as the music faded away. "All aboard ya'll."
Mama stretched out her hand. "C'mon baby time to go."
"Five minutes to load up," the driver hollered,
headin out the door.
Mama reached over to put some change on the counter,
but the man in the yella hat stopped her.
"No ma'am you saves yoah change."
He put down the price of our meals on top of the check.
"Heah now ya'll give this to the l'il lady,
whooiee chile but you shoah can dance."
He handed mama a crisp five dollah bill American,
smiling a crooked grin around his cigar.
Then like the pied piper done blew his flute,
One by one folks stepped up and handed mama some money,
smiling down at me as they shuffled on by.
"Ten, twenty, thirty," she counted.
"You wanna put it in your purse"
"No mama save it for my dress"
Yes I suppose I do look the sort
Who may be in need of a man's attention
And true I did smile beguilingly when your drink was set before me.
"A drink for the lovely lady" you tipped the waiter to say.
The smile was for his delivery,
The toss of his head over his shoulder pointing you out behind him,
The subtle roll of his eyes as he turned back and looked into mine so much said with so little.
I raising my drink to my lips sent you a silent cheer
to which you took as your cue to come my way,
Such clever lines you began to spout as the love affair began.
No not I with you, but I am sure you were falling in love with the sound of your own voice, so melodic mellifluous, self assured in your delusions.
Perhaps it was the implied notion that I was some how lucky
Nay, privileged to have such attentions from you,
Should count myself lucky to be noteworthy enough,
to be of interest enough, for you to spend not just the $3.50 for the brandy, but the effort in walking the five or six feet to my table
where you as I said, regaled me with tales of your charmed life.
At the bottom of my third brandy, I saw you smile with the glint of imminent victory in your eyes as you cued the waiter for the bill.
Rising, you held out your arm, ahh such gallantry.
"Shall we" you whispered expectantly.
Setting down my glass I leaned forward in contemplation
Hand to chin. My eyes raked you in "I think not" she said
Be Safe! ..................................................... by Ted Scarf
It took alot of lives, time and dignity to get here.
Typhoons, hurricanes, S-curves, chiccanes,
Earthquakes, carbombs, kamikaze, comicbook,
Khazikstan, karma sutra Hellapalooza
PsychoMichaelangelo paints the falling sky
Layers of black attack the Love Shack
Hate the nigga in you
Suppress the homo in you
Hide the weakness geekness or sweetness at all costs,
Lauren, LaCoste, Claiborne, Firstborn.
Fashion costs lots, but vanity is insatiable.
Drinking problem, gamble on.
Addicts cannot help ourselves until there is no choice.
Free will until the kill.
Don`t look back the past is bleak, the future wide open.
Anything can happen and it will. Eyes receive 360 degrees.
Peripheral blur, Grrrrrr-unt, said the runt.
Litterbox politics, ticked off professor picked off at 30 meters,
30 litres later talks like a wet piece of white bread
In a brushed aluminum precision toaster,
Don`t push it down unless you like lightening whitening the sky,
That is a cool poem-
It is like your thoughts are clenched---------tightly-
I just started a collaborative, group poem. Join in, add some lines; let's see where it goes.
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