Mario's Stripper

There is
a naked woman
in that picture
I bought recently.

Goth-eyed,
she holds herself
contorted.
Unblinking, unreal,
on an over-lit stage.
Undressing,
as if
for a lover,
crueller than most.

Men sit at tables,
Women too.
Some lost
in themselves.
Others in the glasses
they spend nights
exploring.
A lucky few,
in each other.

A cloud
of cigarette smoke
obliterates details
in one corner.
A strobe light
throws uneven shadows
in another.

There is drama
in there.
A hint of tragedy.
A little slapstick.
A soupçon of lust
And even
a promise
of love
waiting to inhale.

And all anyone can see
when it hangs
on my wall,
Is the woman
dancing naked.

The shameless hussy.
She who dances,
And
She who displays her
on her shameless wall.