the girl at the bar

the girl at the bar is watching me dance
with eyes so wide i wonder
that the man sitting next to her, leering down at nearly grown in tits
old enough to be her father and he leans over, staring
and i wonder that he doesn't fall in.
eyes so wide i see myself reflected from across the bar
not twenty and naked, pumping hips obscenely against this brass pole
but sixteen, and unsure of my own worth
watching girls i know are better than me in a vain attempt to learn something
pick something up, anything
as long as it's not my own.
the girl at the bar is watching me dance
and her eyes are so big i have to wonder
how i came to be the one watched.

my own eyes travel past her slender frame
long blonde hair, wavy and perfect
to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the bar
designed, i think, for just this purpose.
i am rolling my way across the stage,
catching eyes on my hips and carrying them with me
each one clutching a sweaty dollar, just waiting for a glimpse
of pubescently naked crotch,
shaved with care in my cold cast-iron bathtub.
so i miss a step, stumble over a stripe of denim
just barely covering more than their imaginations can handle
just barely coming off the end of a silver boot
a practiced flip failing in the light of her uncertain eyes,
and i watch her catch the moment, and save it
slowly building a wall around her psyche,
the one thing these men can't grope.

so i turn my attention back to the men surrounding
wiggle my hips to grab their glances, wandering across the bar
to the various sets of tits exposed to the cold damp air,
shining luridly in the neon lights of every alcohol you could want
to lower your inhibitions with.
so i bat my eyelashes when i catch them looking at me
because once she said my eyes were my greatest weapon.
bedroom eyes. come get me eyes. so i ask for it
over and over, and they stuff dirty bills against my clean skin
staining it with the filth of their uncertain desires
but the girl at the bar is watching me dance
so i weave my steps more intricately
step harder and harder until sweat runs between exposed breasts
and i pull her in. purse clutched to her almost naked body
as she tentatively steps forward, closer
and closer until i am dancing before her
ignoring waving dollar bills, and i wink.
and she winks.
and as i stand up straight and dance with all my heart
i almost don't notice the stacks of bills collecting behind me
the jukebox turned up to match my fervor because what i am watching
are big eyes through the back of her turned head
i'm watching little girl hips sway with pride instead of hunger
so i tumble my way back to the stage with a carefully practiced glide
and end my song with a wink and a blown kiss.
all in a day's work, gentlemen, i say
collecting rent and groceries balled up and crinkled
on the permanently stained floor.

and the girl at the bar is not watching me dance
eyes instead occupied searching for the next wallet
spreading open like the promise of her bare thighs
so i watch her
wrestling the demons of self-hatred and self-worth -
neither has a place on this stage.
and she watches me collecting dollar bills in greasy handfuls
knowing she's next...
and smiles.