Mardi Gras

by

Candi Timmerman

The crowd in the quarter is full of rich smells
and big hands,
all reaching out to find something to anchor to.
Because the celebration is uplifting,
and sometimes it is difficult to find
a way back.

It is witchcraft, a casting, cackling,
long fingered, big handed, ugly faced shrieking voice
and it bewitches innocents (me)
and sucks us up inside the
womb of lewdness.

High on the trip of adrenaline
I am caught
and I do not fight.
Lift my shirt, cold nipples
grinning at them all (at It)
and feel beads between breasts,
cold, smooth, sexy.
Sip my drink, Drag in my cigarette.
Drink, Drink, Drink; Puff, Puff, Puff
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh; Lift, Lift, Lift

For my trouble, I got thirty stands of
fifteen cent a piece beads, so cheap
but in some sick way, it was worth it;
to fit in, to shock.
To be the belle of the ball,
at least in my own mind.

And upon returning home,
trying to pull off the beads proved difficult,
the plastic wrapped itself together,
creating a web from which nearly no one breaks away,
and so I cut them to free myself.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Love In The First Degree
by: Jo-El Gerber
from: Hurricane, WV, US

To visit all of Candi Timmerman's poems, click HERE

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