By Dave Hood
Socializing at a frat party, dressed like
Little Miss Riding Hood,
You’re chatting about social psychology,
dreams of the future,
with a dark, handsome man,
Who’s dressed like Prince Charming.
Your boyfriend’s, standing next to you,
Disguised as Dracula, seems disinterested,
whispers in your ear,
“Time for another bottle of beer,”
then departs, through the crowd of partiers,
adorned in various mythologies,
legends of pop culture,
You observe him disappearing into the darkness,
haze of cigarette smoke.
The energizing sound of sonic emanating
from the speakers, as if magically generating
the spirit of lustful tension.
You continue chatting, eventually realizing
your boyfriend’s been gone too long.
So you begin inquisitively searching,
upstairs, in the bedrooms, then down the stairs
to the basement—
So many strangers, in disguises, intoxicated, high on illicit drugs.
You venture outside, stand on the porch, next to the
Carved pumpkin, wondering where he’s gone. Your eyes
Scanning the darkness, finally catching a glimpse Of him,
in the shadow of the old Oak tree, illuminated
from the solitary street lamp, as if a flash light.
He’s passionately kissing, aggressively
groping a woman, who appears to be
your girlfriend, a pretty blonde, with big boobs,
slender figure, dressed like the body’s
you’ve seen in the swim suit edition
of Sports Illustrated.She’s always expressed
a lusting appetite for him,
you think to yourself.
So you descend the concrete steps,
slowly walk toward him,like a hunter
with a loaded gun, searching for a wolf,
fallen oak leaves crunching under your feet.
He hears the sound, opens his eyes,
peers at you from the shadows, mutters, “Oh no!”
Begins to move toward you.
You glare at him, feeling disgust, turn away,
Quickly walk toward your parked Mustang—
The transportation you drove him in.
He yells, “Sweet heart! Don’t Go! It was all
You turn your head, look back,
The street light illuminating his eyes,
Allowing you to peer into the depths of his soul.
In a moment, you confirm: he’s not the man
The thought provoking you to yell, like a scorned lover,
“BLOW ME ONE LAST KISS!”