In Vegas you can get
Tori, a comely co-ed from L.A.
Delivered to your door
In twenty minutes flat
Or else she’s free.
Twins are only fifty dollars more.
But I’ve got Irma with me,
Tigress of the AARP
And living proof that spandex
Is not only for the under fifty set.
A Dead Sea facial cream
Has miraculously removed
Every last wrinkle from her face.
Her latest boob job has restored her figure
To its pre-childbirth splendor.
When we get back from
The midnight sex show,
I am blue-pill ready.
I imagine I’m a
Cirque de Soleil artiste
From two red streamers,
My whole body transported by
Paroxysms of ecstasy.
Then suddenly I hear the scrunch and feel
The first rapier thrusts of pain.
By the time the paramedics come,
I’m crawling like a centipede.
They insist on being paid in cash
So Irma grabs my poker winnings
From the pocket of my Gucci jeans
And sends them on their way.
I can hear them laughing in the hallway.
Who did Grandpa think he was,
The daring old man on the flying trapeze?
(originally published by Every Day Poets)