The smoke hangs in the air like fog ore the San Francisco Bay
The neon lights are about the only aid to see your way.
The chairs are all different and if you are lucky don’t wobble
The tables are all nicked, but hey as long as your drink doesn’t spill why squabble?
The music is full of soul, deep, rich soul that touches you down below.
The musicians are lost in their rhythm and don’t know if you come or go.
Break – a light shatters the fog.
Voice – announces a dancer; promises this one is not a dog.
Blackout – and then the music starts.
Slow, sweet, echoing in the bose that are hung around the place
Echoing off the walls as she makes her first step, a leg extends dressed in lace.
A step and a hip grinds her into the spot, she is only lit from the shoulders down
You see the shadow of her neck as she lays her head back, and rolls it around.
Slow, easy slide, one step then the other, every one accented with hips gyrating fine
Someone grumbles, someone says shut-up and watch, it will be worth your time.
Flash – lights are everywhere
Volume – the music is wild now and full of her dare.
Change – now she struts and makes the pole on the runway
her toy.
Beauty that shines out from beneath the made-up face, now a wink of a dark eye
She is almost vertical with one leg up the pole and one still on the floor, you sigh
She is in one moment now on the floor of the runway working it like no model could
Arms wind up, as she sinks down, legs go into a split, she leans forward and comes straight up.
The view has you now, this is no regular to this circuit surely, for she is magic that fills your cup.
Twirl follows twirl, her head never moves but for a sharp snap, she owns the place you bet she does.
Black – back to no light
Softness – a whispered thank you
Music – to the soul touching you down below.
Backstage she lowers her head to rub off the glitter, make-up, and a tear.
He comes backstage, hands her a wad of money and asks if she will.
She looks at him one moment then cocks her head, with a soft ‘Maybe.’, intonation fear.
The costume, the make-up kit, everything that is all about this place and its chill
Is put in a leather satchel and out the back door she goes to climb into her car
Dressed in black boot to the knees, jeans tight, leather jacket, and a hat pulled down far.
Roar – a powerful engine starts up
Scrunch – gravel flies as a 442 makes its mark
Swish – the cd goes into the player
And she says, “ Baby come home, I don’t want to be lonely anymore.
The lights of the car come on; she turns the corner, heading uptown hoping, he will show.
tamaraadores 