poem of the day 06.25.10

board of directors

he was passed out
she was jumping around
on his lap
a black g-string
little silver pasties
on her tits

she looks back
at the group of them
“he’s passed out,”
she says
“how long do you
want me to keep doing this?”

“until you’re done,” they tell her

“i’m done now.”

one of the guys gives her
another forty dollars
“give him another one,”
he says.

“okay,” she says,
beginning to gyrate again
to the bad metal music

he has his head back
his eyes closed
his mouth wide open
and in two weeks
he’s going to be someone’s husband

“but you’re just wasting
your money.”

“that’s fine,” they tell her
“we’ll worry about the cost.
you just do your job.”