Charlie Brown in the Strip Club


By G. Murray Thomas

He would not normally be in a place like this,
but the invitation—for a drink—from his coworkers was such a rarity
that he accepted without asking where they were going.

He tries to hide his embarrassment,
his eyes shifting nervously from the nakedness on stage
to his rapidly warming beer.

But when she walks on stage
his face turns as red as her hair,
and his companions can’t help but notice.

He is so flummoxed he does not see
their heads bent in conspiracy,
the money counted out, and passed along.

Just—suddenly—there she is, writhing in his lap.
She doesn’t seem to recognize him,
but did she ever even notice him, back then?

He knows that THIS was never what he wanted.
Nonetheless, his heart pounds, his skin sweats,
his hands hover mere inches from her still unattainable flesh.


First published in Poetic Diversity.

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