Poem – THE STUDS IN THE BAR (By John Grey)


Rosalie is at the bar thinking – who’s next?
Then two extravagant, exaggerated beings enter,
one behind the other,
like stallions, heads high, tails swishing,
threaten to pull the floor out from under
the regular male patrons
with their jangling gold, French cologne,
and styled hair flopping on the brow
like birds’ broken wings.

Two guys, no limit to the amount of space
they take up in adoring eyes.
Rosalie wonders – what’s the point?
Am I merely in a gallery admiring the art work?
What could they possibly have to do with me?
Stomach cramps. Rough day at the the office.
Waiting for her mother’s test results.
Life has wilfully trained her to control herself.

Besides, some women they apparently know
plant their feet, their painted faces, bouffant locks,
in the sphere of the Adonis.
It’s nothing to them that the hands they fondle,
cheeks they brush, are the prototype
for pride and entitlement.
The moment is their only intention anyhow.

Rosalie decides the ordinary Joes she sometimes dates
are easier for her to wrap her joy around.
Like the middle-aged guy with the comb-over
who just offered to buy her a drink.
He’s not much to look at.
And that’s all the more reason to look.