The hot blonde with a blue dress on
checking me checking her out
from over her vintage pink sunglasses
at 8:35pm, Saturday night, 23rd Street, Portland.
A walking sexpot
straight out of Bukowski’s sordid world.
She half turned that fuck-machine body
in that painted on baby blue dress
and caught me red-handed
checking those hips for grips
and fucking her hard in my mind…
…and she smiled as she walked away.
Walking feet strolling down 23rd Street at 10:15pm.
An out-of-towner looking for a friendly smile.
They don’t dole those out here
in Portland Oregon
like Big D does.
I walk in silence
thru Saturday night couples,
missing my woman,
my friendly shadows…
my way back home.
To snatch a line from Mr. MoJoRison
“People are strange when you’re a stranger”.
‘Tis true Lizard King,
taking for instance this land-o-port,
no one seems pleased to smile at me.
Hippie chicks with hippie dicks
either not too hip or too hip, anti-hip if you will.
But such is the luck of the transplant walker,
such is the luck of me.
Seedy bar seat 23rd Street, 12:30 am, Saturday night
with cops in combat boots and motorcycle tights
looking for barroom fights to break up.
Don’t look my way officer.
You don’t got no trouble with me.
This stubble you see is a double of me
for the tough guy I was just trying to be.
There surely is somebody somewhere here on 23rd getting…
Surely you should be tending to they
and look past me,
writing about you
in this corner seat,
23rd Street, Portland