Titty Bars Poem by James McLain

Titty Bars

the lights are dim but not enough,
neon flicker bounces off the worn-out tile,
smoke hangs heavy, like a promise never kept,
the girls glide past, some with eyes dead,
some with a hunger sharp as a switchblade.

a dollar in the G-string buys you a look,
a fantasy, the kind that curls in the corners,
where dreams go to rot with empty bottles,
and hands too rough for love, too soft for war.

you sit there, old but not wiser,
watching youth dance on the edge of desperation.
it's all a joke, you think,
a sick one told by gods too drunk to care.

but you keep coming,
like a moth to the heat of it,
something about the way they laugh
makes you forget how ugly you've become.

in here, you're king for a moment,
just until the song fades,
just until the lights go up
and you're left with nothing but your hands
and a story too worn to tell.