Busy day today… hope everyone is enjoying the weekend! In my early history I had relationships with many strippers and other types of workers in the sex industry. This poem brought back some memories…
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-=[ Gig at Big Al’s ]=-
There is a special privacy onstage.
Wearing little, then less, then
nudity’s silver high –
heeled shoes, I dance to myself: the men
Posed below at tables
with assessor’s gazes and the paycheck’s
sure prerogatives are dreams
I’ve realized, my chosen
people, made-up eyes, my fantasies.
I pull down dark around the room.
I turn on sex’s juke two-step.
I set foot on the spotlight’s
isolated space and grease
my hips and lick my legs. With a whip
lash of gin in the first row anyone
can beat around the bush, can buy
my brand of loneliness, all possible
circumlocutions of crotch. No one
can touch me, by law
I cannot touch myself. So none
of it is public, not until
in one side door
on his soft shoes
my lover comes to watch.
— Heather McHugh (1977)