Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Please Proceed This Way by Joseph DiLella

the tall, slender brunette ordered me
to bed
in the 13th floor room, one of Hilton's finest,
with five, plush and comfy over-sized down pillows
even a momma duck would be proud to call her own.

"Shoe's off, jacket too, then the pants"
she ordered before motioning me to spread 'em
legs, arms wide open
like a child making snow angels in the winter.
Cuffed like a fish-eyed fool on TV's Cops,
I puckered up for a kiss
but instead
was rocked by a right cross
that knocked me into next Tuesday's dreamland.

When I awoke
with jawbone sore, though spirits high
the domineering girl was gone
and I was blue
in a tub filled with ice
- minus one kidney.

Moral of this story:
Never take the arm of a stern English looker
at a a new local British pub
for the next meat pie you eat
just may be your own.

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