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The Pansy Club
by
Theresa Cecilia Garcia
Return to Spectacle!
Peep show movies eclipse,
flea circuses become scarce,
cooch dancers drown
in motley emporia.
Darkened projection arcades
cocktails-gin and jazz,
chorusing a line of lucious beauties
and Big Bands.
Frenzied beatings causing the pain
of a pin prick,
illicit activities safe
from prying elder eyes.
The mirrored ball spins
and picture's end found
Gentleman Jimmy Walker
having a royal good time.
Wealthy , wicked, and well loved.
Slightly off center
a caricature of the world
stands
with rolled down stockings
hiked up skirt, bobbed hair
and cupie bow lips.
Luxurious and sordid.
Syllogisms of color
deceived senses expiate
her stride,
as she totes a tray with various brands,
cigars and cigarettes.
Camera girl glides closely behind
with befouled corpse-like expression,
brutal beautiful boredom.
Fragile flowers in the wind against time
were the waiters dressed in tuxedos
serving up exotic liquor
and sex.
Prized heroines in persuit of promises
and affection
smothered in ostrich plumes
staggered
under the weight of jewels.
Gentlemen with pale faces and managed
fury
commenced bodies to quiver,
the ultimate in masculine appeal.
The Pansy Club gleamed of golden ornamentation
in a prolonged rapture
of partial nudity and obvious necessity.
A successor to a dark, abandoned utopia
of perpetual motion.
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