I met her at a biker bar
(C) 2025 by Russ Dodson
I met her at a biker bar
somewhere in midtown Monterrey.
She said she was a topless dancer,
working fifteen shifts a day.
She handed me a well-worn token,
said her name was Daisy Mae,
said if I learned to play the game right
I would never have to pay.
I placed the token on the table,
waited for the song to play.
When it started, she stood up;
I watched her body start to sway.
She headed for a dressing room,
looked back and said, "Don't go away."
She returned wearing a costume
meant to lead a man astray.
In pasties and a beaded g-string,
everything was on display.
Her eyes said, "This is all for you, love."
There was nothing more to say.
This is our town, this place we share
we’ve got lions, on our town square
old mills, big hills and Smithills Dean
no frills, aside from our home team
Rivington if you want fresh air
You’ll not find many millionaires
but dreams survive, with wear and tear
for what could be, or should have been
This is our town
London’s alright, but can’t compare
with Bolton where, I much prefer
Ye Olde pasties, Holden’s ice cream
Moss Bank Park and moorlands of green
why would I want to live elsewhere?
This is our town.
two abreast
a wall of flesh
i left my coat
at the hat rack
from my mind
consumed
a looping
tune
that need be
written down
as for what
i found
on my finger
tips tapping
from a played
plucked string
that made
her sing
my score
board
pre prepared
paper squared
needing no
licking
self adhesive
to please
to post
what
i wrote
written
on those
sticky notes
women
i urge you
to get rolling
the dough
for to make a
difference in the
lives of
others so
they can cry
so better
yet set
your
bread
behind
and pick
up and
chop an
onion for
fake tears
are better
than no
thing
Above, a few feet,
From the gallery
Archaeologists spotted the empty space
Larger than the cross off M-68 by about 3 times
But they aren't the only ones exploring a void
Ancient like the pyramids is empty in the chest of the boys
Digging up the artifacts of time
Hidden in your lines
That I write
And when we collide
It's like a land mine
Hid in the jungle near a pyramid where
Built between rivers
2 shrines to weary livers and lovers
Whether its desert or monsoon weather,
When it's winter
You will be there
Somewhere in the hardware store
Picking out the tools you need
To dig more deeply
In the spaces left between
Or to mend that stupid leak
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