poetry

Bombchelle. {poetry}

The lights were low.

The air was thick

with cigarette smoke.

Music was beating

through the air,

the drums vibrating

off everyone’s libido.

She waited behind

the stage left entrance.

She adjusted her costume,

though it would soon

be on the floor,

replaced by dirty dollar bills

in her garter.

Her music hit, fast and hard.

The DJ boomed her name,

Bombchelle.

She stepped onto the stage.

Her combat boots and cut-offs,

garnering approval from the masses.

She was not cookie-cutter.

Heavy metal riffs

tussled in the air,

arm wrestling with the smoke

and smell of cheap perfume

and men’s cologne.

She made her way

to the centerpiece.

She ran her fingers

up and down the pole,

driving the men a little crazy.

Her long blonde hair

reflected the flashing lights

in pinks, blues, and greens.

She thrashed to the music,

mesmerizing,

ripping her tiny top right off.

Her perfect breasts exposed

and her audience enthralled,

throwing money all around her.

Her mind was not with the men

captivated by her.

She was lost in the music.

Writhing to it, climbing the pole,

sliding down,

head bent down,

hair reaching the floor

before her body even hit it.

The other girls watch from the floor,

jealous of what she has.

That something special.

The she-does-not-belong-here sort of special.

But she has a mouth to feed at home

and she will do what it takes to give him

everything and more.

The song came to a close.

She gathered up her money,

and smiled at the patrons.

She knew they’re all just people too.

This helped ease the issues

that arise in her mind.

Each night that she performs,

taking off meager clothing,

money thrown at her feet,

and tucked into her garter.

In the back,

she turns down offers of parties.

Getting dressed in jeans and a hoodie,

pulling up her long blonde hair in a bun,

washing the paint from her

naturally beautiful face.

Her take is $357.00

Not bad for a Tuesday.

She quietly unlocks her front door

and closes it softly behind her.

She pays the babysitter her thirty bucks,

then ten extra for helping

with the little man’s homework.

She slips into his bedroom.

The little superstar is fast asleep.

He loves playing football, and baseball.

She will do what it takes

for him to have the future

of his dreams.

She leans down

to kiss him on the forehead.

He awakens only the slightest bit.

“Momma,” she hears, from the

tiny face turning upwards

with a small smile.

After she’s sure he’s sound as asleep,

she tucks herself into bed.

Images of futures in her mind,

she knows they’ll make it.

*****

wp-content-uploads-2014-12-vanessajasekVanessa Jasek is a wife and mother of four kids. She is a student pursuing a Liberal Arts Degree after a long career in Human Resources. Vanessa is now an author who is following a new path in life, a brilliant path of words, mysteries that unravel as each new word appears on the screen. She loves to read. She loves her two bulldogs. Life is good.

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