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Poem

We come out in full force after the oldies die in their beds
Some are wearing dog collars with spikes, and leather chaps
We crawl out of our day jobs, dragging our electric guitars
The gyrating and strobe lights make it real. New York’s finest.

Some  are totally into this scene, acting like they invented it.
I like the rub I get as I ooze my way through the crowd.
My ears are on fire; there is electricity; the costumes are terrific.
I doubt I fit in, so it’s a win. That’s the point.  Did he just give me the eye?

I keep moving; in a snake of girlfriends, they are leading me somewhere.
The dancing is fun.  Watching the others is the highlight for me.
We are New York, we are invincible, we are the instigators, the organizers.
I am all powerful. I am wearing my chains, trying to be unique. It is enough.

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