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 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