Private Dancer

Sly and the Family Stone reverberates in the background.

I Want to take you High---er! Hi—gh—er!

Boom shaka lacka lacka---boom shaka lacka lacka !!

The darkness throbs and then a
spotlight flashes illuminating
her four inch spikes
all aglitter as her
well defined stems wrap the pole center stage, inching their way up
heels first, towards the dark dusty paper-mache ceiling.

Swirling lights and a throbbing deep-tone tease the regulars as
her voluptuous implants bounce
and her trim
athletic form swings and slides
gracefully
swirling, twirling
thumping, bumping, writhing and smiling to the beat.

Just another sultry artist with pouty red lips
and no tan lines.

High-priced minutes tick by as
thick mascaraed lashes and smoky eyes
slice through the fog, combing for dead presidents
as they salute a beautiful flower
in full bloom, as she eyes a dirty clock
and competes with
younger more fragrant flowers
showing up late for the dinner rush
and now shielded by burly men
in dark corners.