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.
We were young and full of adventure
Travelling in our kombi van
Burning incense and listening
To Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan
We decided to climb a tourist peak
Slowly making it to the top
Going down was easier
Though there was a lot of start and stop
It was busy on the peak that day
With tourists abound
We had to keep standing aside
On the narrow ground
As we stood aside to let someone pass
There was a buzzing in the air
In a moment bees were upon me
Down my top and in my long hair
Without any thought or hesitation
In a complete frenzied state of affairs
Writhing and screaming I ripped off my top
To many tourists eyes a-glare ……
This summer, my twin met a surfer guy,
wearing bright shorts, looked like a dragonfly.
Funny, had a bush so thick,
thought he’d impress his new chick,
his topless humor made her wave goodbye.
Pleaded she, topless when in street caught:
Equal rights with menfolk I’ve or not?
I’ve just done what they do,
Not more, nary less new,
If men do, so do women feel hot.
Oh really, wondered policing man,
Thoughts in mind bursting wild, hard to pen,
Discreet, he kept quiet,
So does this shunned poet,
Thinking of Poetry Soup’s fermaan.
_________________________________
Happenings |23.08.2023| Limerick, humour
Poet’s note: In a picturesque French town, a woman faced prosecution for walking through streets topless. In sympathy other women joined her in support. ‘If men can why not we? We too feel hot in this weather.’ They paraded topless with ‘what difference’ scrawled with a marker pen on their skin. This limerick imagines how she would protest when caught topless. Oh really, how the policeman might wonder. This reminds me of my school days. Some girls in our group argued on similar lines (no, not topless). In response boys challenged them to duplicate what all they could do and silenced them. But times are changing now. Fermaan=diktat.
Topless Tattoo
Topless tattoo parading on the beach
Self-assured, edgy, out of reach
A nonchalant lounge, delicate pose
The perfect life we have to suppose
Male eyes survey you, curiosity and lust
And you bare all from head to bust
Then you leave, you’ve had your play
An old guy watches, wishes you’d stay.
The ghosts await you as you turn the key
A cold chill greets you from the sea
Your glamour lasts for a few empty hours
Home has no use for womanly powers
The sun disappears, and the gloom takes hold
The beach just a memory, of you so bold
You’ll leave them guessing until the next sunrise
Down on the sand with your topless disguise
David Cox 05/07/23
Daring to Walk Around the House Shirtless
I am a daring woman, a wanton woman, a top heavy woman.
My 44 Double D’s are pressing down hard on my chest today.
I decide to free them, to let them loose, to give them some air.
Which is nervy because even if you are an old lady, and I am….
If you have a husband like mine
Who is still seventeen
And still thinks of me as sixteen,
you know he is going to run up and play with your boobs.
My back stops him in mid grab.
What is on your back?
Apparently thirteen wood ticks.
He is completely grossed out and says he will take off six of them.
Thirteen is too many.
I am pretty sure he got all their blood-filled ugly rounded brown bodies.
The heads are still in my skin though, I bet.
Those heads are keeping him away from the booby grab.
I guess those stupid ticks bites are good for something.
HEY!
Never mind….
A letter had arrived for me
I felt like a celebrity
It’s for a photo shoot
(I’ll be topless to boot)
It’s mammogram time - they're ghastly!
The mammogram went pretty well
T’was painful, boobies hurt like hell
My results came back clear
There’s no cancer to fear
I’m relieved, I guess you can tell!
02/05/21
I
The topless tress became completely nude
As if they felt upcoming autumn’s mood
Cold sunny autumn sky reflected me
Awakening the raven of reality
II
Autumn topless tress
Before the winter’s freeze
A beggar at the Parliament
My heart forbids me: no lament.
Abandoned Meus square
Forgotten. Unaware
Rue de Commerce over here
Commerce is everywhere.
On a public beach, they sat,
An ordinary pair
Of middle age, content, it seemed,
To soak some sunshine there.
Her rolls of flab revealed the fact
That half of her was nude,
Her breasts quite unencumbered,
Though her reasons did elude.
Was tanning her objective
Or perhaps a cooling breeze
Which a bathing suit would hinder
Or did digging straps displease?
Or just maybe she went topless
‘Cause her body made her proud
Or, most likely, just because the law
Says that it is allowed.
Supine she lies upon the sand
beads of perspiration finely dot
curvaceous golden brown form
carefree tresses spring, fly away hair
coconut oil lathers coquettish peaks
bared free, flesh innocent
she turns, languish sun kissed rays
fingers brush sand that lingers
covetously to her thighs
her eyes span the horizon
foamy froth surfs cobalt waves
the rhythmic sound of water
caresses the silky white sand
clouds float a vivid blue sky
she smiles exotic, delicious
perfection at the beach
divine goddess of sand
Statement: Snapshot of a young woman topless sunbaking on Bondi Beach 80s. Self aware, personal meets political. Simple poem, simple beach scene.
Entered in Your best poem that is trophy worthy Contest 4
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Written 08/09/2019
I'm motoring about with my top down.
I'm getting strange looks, but never a frown.
Ladies eyes go green and mens’ chins drop.
Until it clouds over and I have to stop.
I press a little harder and up it comes,
as the first drops of rain begin to drum.
It lands with a click and on we go.
Me and my darling convertible Peugeot.
Limerick: She blew topless on Sea Anne-Anne
She blew topless on Sea Anne-Anne
When her anchor sank in hurry-can(e)
Then quaked Nepal earth
No way to hide girth
Since wears smile and lets down her man(e).
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
.
Glowing with tumid buds hern taut convex bear the frore morning tide's touch
*'bout thuh title, it wuz the only
way to share this Monoku with
y'all on one line ") it's a special
one for a special girl ')
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