Touchdown Jesus. 54
The Springs Spring, Part Two
During the day Inn Exile sits
Like a steamin Hot Cross Bun
Curving around the bend of Warm Springs Drive
Like something ready to have firm teeth sunk into it
Like something ready to be eaten voraciously
Like most of the men who stay there
Like me
Middleaged hopeful always wishful men
Running away from their realities
Leaving their homes, home cities behind
For a creative bit of hanky-panky. Bit
or bits. Lots of bits. Hankering to get
The Bit between their teeth.
Simmering in the late summer sun waiting for
Him
Something like Him Something to feed the fantasy
Well-behaved. To a point. Doors slam.
Gentlemen disappear behind closed doors.
Cries are heard shattering the Hundred Degree daylight.
The Wolfpack arrives. Boys Young men
Predators of the night Anything resembling
Sanity goes home when the night manager
Puts his hairy chest away Locks the door behind him
A hiatus of breathless hours
Nine-thirty to Midnight. All hell breaks loose.
Every junk-addled badboy, snotnosed parolee,
Rough punked-out kid looking for a sex fix,
Every little whore in the Coachella Valley
Stands waiting Fly unzipped Behind the pillars
Beyond the Long Pool A few oldsters
Watch 25 year old sexvideos starring Blondie-
Turning- sixty who's letting the Punks
in the West Door
The big hairy chested boy who just bailed
Out of Iraq parades his beefy big nipped bod
Around Spreading love When the Oldsters say,
"Let's" He'll say, "It's not the time". It isn't.
It's time for the Wolfpack to howl.
This sixtysomething purveyor of red-hot sexuality
Shivers in his room Hoping to get the hell out of there
ASAP
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