Saturday, November 23, 2013

Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Doom Fox

She arrived in planet
bar as if she had been
airlifted from a Vegas
casino where she had
been performing a one
woman revue that
revealed more of her  
body that what might
have been in her mind.
Someone had loaded her
up with high grade snow,
then given the word to
Scottie to "beam 'er down"
and began taking notes
for a possible inter-
galactic comedy of errors
that would reveal the baseness
of human emotions when
confronted with the ultimate
sexual play thing.  I couldn't
imagine why a neighborhood
bar in Upstate New York
had been chosen for the site
of this particular experiment
in terror but I could see
that when the results were
tabulated, what she was doing
with the flies at the bar, was
going to rate in the Top Ten of
All Time personal appearances.
In fact the way these guys
were tripping over themselves
trying to impress The Fox made
me think this was a new kind
of spontaneous reality TV thing
like the Romans used to have
in The Coliseum though instead                        
of being voted off the island or
out of the bar, you were eaten
alive and the corpse left for
the birds to pick apart once
the show was over.

                The Porn Star and the Detective, Off Hours, Talking in a Bar

In the circles she traveled
taking your clothes off and
getting it on with complete
strangers was thought of
as glamorous just because
someone was getting it all
on film and johns would pay
real money to see what most
people did in the privacy of
their own homes.
She thought of herself as
a kind of movie star but
he disagreed.
"What do you call what it
is you get paid to do?"
"I'm a porn star."
"Now, where I come from
they call taking off your
clothes and sleeping with       
strangers a whore."
"I make $2,000 an hour.
Sometimes more. Show me
a whore who makes that
kind of money."
"You take money for sex,
"Yes, but this is different."
"You take money for sex,
you're a whore.  You could
look it up."
Now that her balloon was
thoroughly deflated, you could
see her losing her composure,
see her body minders flexing
their muscles ready to rumble.
What happened next depended
upon which book he suggested
she look whore up in.  My money
wasn't on the Holy Bible but
you never knew.  That cop was
one crazy son of a bitch and
the law was on his side.         

                                                 The Dropouts                                                   

They seem to gather
for impromptu meetings
of The Dropouts of High
School Unwed Mothers
of Schenectady at local
Dunkin Donuts where
a woman worker of age
is considered past her
prime, old before her time
& a rare beast who must
be incredibly desperate to
work for no benefits,
bare minimum wage &,
by-osmosis, sugar &
caffeine buzz. The not
working girls are dressed
for bigger and better things
in transparent pants so tight
you could read size, design
& washing instructions on
their underwear while waiting
on line as they trade
pregnancy horror stories:
massive weight gains, water
retentions, near toxemia,
constant spotting, traumatic
post partum blues, plaintive
low notes that keep on
playing all through the night.

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