deepundergroundpoetry.com

Club Ladies

 On the polished doorstep
East collides with West
There’s a faint aroma of menace
Irony smells quaintly ironic here
As a Polish bouncer stands guard
In front of a neon clad club
Where women dance on poles
It’s windows made of brick
Painted in dark glossy colours
Nobody is allowed to look out
All are forbidden from looking in
Entry is free but if you want to stay
You will need lots of cash

Amongst the cafes, stores and bookshops
The herd go about their business
Deliberately oblivious and blind
Mutual sexploitation of others
Is meanly and selfishly ignored
As if it wasn’t happening
Local residents scurry past
Like rats wearing blinkers
They tut their disapproval
They sigh their protest
But are resigned to defeat
Desperately seeking, prepubescent boys
Loiter with intent at the bus stop
Hoping to catch a sensual glimpse
Of something they cannot have
But they can store for later

Patrons patronise the doorman
To ensure their smooth entry
They come in all shapes and sizes
They are from all walks of life
Yet crawl inside to meet their need
Ladies dance like whores
Inside an invisible glass box
You can look but you can’t touch
That would cost much, much more
Almost as much as their overpriced drinks
Leave any question of morality
Any fair minded concept of ethics
And doubts about the debasement
Of your gender and species,
Leave them with Boris at the door
He will carefully file them
In the neon clad garbage can outside
Marked “human waste”
Written by David_Macleod (14397816)
Published
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