Boom, Boom, Boom

In Bangkok,
at the go go bar,
the boys stand on stage in their skivvies.
A number pinned on every brief.
A smile pasted on every face.
Customers sit below the stage,
sip drinks,
stare through a forest of svelte legs as
boys preen before large mirrors on the wall,
dance listlessly,
yawn,
glance at watches.
Their toes are dreaming of being elsewhere.
Muscle boys flex.
Skinny boys sway.
Bewildered boys stare.
Their chests are smooth and distant and a little chilly.
And the music goes Boom, Boom, Boom.
And the lights are flashing red and yellow.
And none of the patrons are smiling.
Boys come over and sit and chat,
press strong thighs against yours,
kiss your ear,
    "Yes I love you vely much.
     You take me tonight?"
The old man at the bar gropes a polished pec,
leans in close to warm himself at beauty's fire.
The boy pats him gently,
lets him feed.
These boys are high priests,
gentle doctors, bodhisattvas,
ministering to fierce vampire greed.
And the music goes Boom, Boom, Boom.
And the lights are flashing red and yellow.
They come to your room with names like
Jack, M, Thom, and Kop.
They show black and white photos
of a father who died too young,
of a mother who cried too much.
in a village too far away.

These boys will love you forever.
Special price.
Just for you.
$30.00 a night.
Quick.
Act now.
They're going fast.
So are you.