Get away from here any way you can.
Sweaty bodies pressing in against me,
surrounded on all sides,
no way to move, no place to go,
pressure from behind,
can’t even raise my arms
to push away or fend off…
Just wait. Let other concert goers pass you by.
by the force of authority,
jaws pried open and aching,
stuff in my mouth,
unable to breathe,
can’t get a breath,
can’t swallow or spit…
Relax! The dentist is almost done.
or risk cutting by the blade.
He’s breathing behind me,
touching here and there,
anticipated but startling,
smooth, deft, silent…
Take it easy. The barber won’t hurt you.
Close your eyes
and it won’t be as bad.
He’s looking at you,
naked and vulnerable,
touching down there,
feeling, pressing, probing,
low, soothing voice
asking personal questions…
No problems. Doctor says you’re fine.
Hold your breath
and pretend you’re not even there.
His arms go round your chest,
then reaching around your waist,
and now he kneels at your feet;
his hand slides up inside your thigh,
heart pounding, swaying on your feet…
OK – 32 waist and 30-inch inseam.
Edited by traveler (07/09/12 05:31 AM)
Edit Reason: additions
A man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense to not himself.
Or just as mad.
So there you are.
Stark raving sane.
- Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead