Car Just Outside Hooter’s

Hot Pants Are So 1970

I was scared to write at Hooter’s
12 pair of hot pants there
I consumed all the big tight chests
My waitress’s bleach-blonde hair

She was Barbie; I am Ken
No corset tied ’cross her back
A man in a green ironed uniform
Holstered a pistol; my heart attack

Because my aorta and Flapitizers
Young women, my 59 years
Super ball games on the TV screens
I am Vincent van Gogh in tears

Said I: “Honey Girl, your menu please”
She then showed me her skinny butt
I sucked like mad on my chocolate shake
Divine comedy inside my gut

About Tim Ruane

Tim Ruane is an artist and writer. He is a graduate of Georgetown University, where he studied English and art, and has worked as a chief copy editor in the editorial department of The Washington Post, where he has also worked as a freelance photographer. He has written hundreds of poems, two novels a number of short stories. His photographs have been published by The Washington Post, Simon & Schuster and The Good Men Project. He has shown his photographs at Potomac MD Public Library and is scheduled to be published in ShareArt LA, Circumfleks Magazine and Splinter Literary Journal. He will have an exhibition of his photographs in September at the offices of Prudential FedRealty in Washington D.C. Mr. Ruane lives and works in Garrett Park MD, just outside Washington D.C. USA.

Comments

  1. !!!

  2. mary says:

    tim! i found you.

    awesome post and photo.
    what a great poem. just great. honest and with wonderful self effacing humor.
    i’ll miss you on wordpress, mary plucky umbrella

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