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Fantasy, reality or a poet in denial?

It was 25 below,
snowing,cold,lonely,
single again,
they always leave,
when the going gets tough,
I pondered,
as I ran across the alley,
into the neighborhood pub,
for a midnight cap,
a minute away,
the bartender was beautiful,
she lived in my building,
on the same floor,
I took her to bed,
many nights,
in my imagination,
for my chances were somewhere between
slim and none,
I preferred slim,
she knew me,
as a regular,
for I visited often,
a rye and ginger,
waited for me at the bar,
she noticed I was wearing,
summer shorts and a wool sweater,
in the middle of the winter,
in 25 below temps,
“nice legs,” she said,
jokingly,
“a real fashion statement,”
“a sight for sore eyes,”
jack the owner replied,
as I sat,
I just smiled,
said “thanks,”
and sipped my drink,
sitting there quietly,
minding nobodies business but my own,
writing stories in my mind,
about captain morgan and the tequila worm,
duking it out,
in some tavern in mexico,
as kerouac sat ,
drunk in a corner,
writing mexico city blues,
waiting for burroughs to pull the trigger,
cassidy would be lost,
in the shadows,
I am a wandering soul,
In the confines of my mind,
I knew ,
the conversation had turned to sex,
for it always does,
I over heard jack say,
he was celibate,
five years and counting,
they were talking,
about fantasies,
I was never asked,
to participate before,
oh well I thought,
not torn up on the whisky,
but I love the smell of the ice,
as I savored the last of my rye and ginger,
ordering another,
glimpses of people coming and going,
in the corner of my eye,
as I continued writing,
In my mind,
savoring every sip,
ignoring all,
I often hear what people think
but seldom hear what they say,
words in general bore me,
might explain,
why I have no friends,
when out of the blue,
she spoke,
I looked around, to see
if she was talking to me,
“hey neighbor,”
“are you celibate,”
“no,” I replied,
“I just don’t get any,”
she laughed,
winking at me,
In the blink of an eye,
she asked me what was my fantasy,
I told her,
love it when a woman
lies on her stomach,
love to massage her back,
enjoying the terrain,
jack was shocked,
he smirked,
“it’s a better view from the front,”
“depends on what part of my mind you live in”,
I replied,
he glared,
she was enthralled and nodded,
in agreement,
I shut up and sipped my drink,
“that’s what you like,”
“what’s your fantasy,” she grinned,
putting me on the hot seat,
I told her,
“I would like to have
a beautiful lady
In a short dress
no panties,no bra,
to stand on my sofa,
facing away from me,
legs spread,
raise her dress,
the rest is best left to the
imagination,”
I blushed,
she smiled,
said nothing,
touched my hand,
letting me recover,
jack grimaced,
called me a crazy fucker,
I shut up,
finished my drink,
got lost in my mind,
as business picked up,
the conversation waned,
I ran back across the alley,
to the safety,
of my little apartment,
glad to be out of there,
I was alone,
the first time in fifteen years,
not counting a lifetime,
of denying the past,
fearing the future,
I would sit on the floor,
In front of the patio door,
smoke cigarettes,
look into the alley,
watch the roaches play,
mind games with the rats,
as the ladies of the night,
propositioned,
the over educated,
dreaming of a life in suburbia,
the roaches always won,
just ask the dinosaurs,
I was lost in thought,
when the knock came on the door,
she entered,
removed her jacket,
never spoke,
stood on the sofa,
raised her dress,
and spread her legs,
before she left,
she kissed me on the lips,
said nothing,
the following evening,
as I watched the,
roaches and the rats,
do their thing,
I saw her,
luggage in hand ,
walking to the curb,
two kids and a man,
greeted her,
I knew who it was,
she turned,
smiled,
blew me a kiss,
as I lit a cigarette,
i smiled,
thankful,
that the rats and roaches,
would never leave me?

Fantasy, reality or a poet in denial?

Rocky Loder

Edmonton, Canada

Artist's Description

sexuaul content if you use your imagination…i have a very active imaginatinon ……sometimes….simple man…simple words …simple thoughts….

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