The Tavern

He asked him, if there was a tavern nearby.

He told him there was a tavern not too far away, just down
the street on the corner.

In the town of Berea, a tavern called Scoundrels is the name
on the door.

He rode his Road King down to the corner, and sure
enough at the fork in the road, was the tavern.
He rode through the gate and parked his Harley in the yard,
then took a seat at a table by the door.

A woman who;
was short in stature,
small of breast,
narrow of waist,
and broad
where a broad should be broad,

Came out the door and began speaking.
She asked if he would like
some of this or that,
or these or those, or some of …

He interrupted,
“Some ice water with a slice of lime,”
he said, looking up at her.

She smiled and thanked him,
turned and walked away.
He watched her as she walked away,
her khakis, were tightly
stretched across her buttocks.
She wiggled where all women should wiggle.

Moreover, with each step she took,
the faster his heart began beating.
This woman mesmerized him;
it was magic to watch her
walk among the patrons delivering their spirits.

He watched, as the riders appeared,
first one by one.
Then by twos and soon they came in
a steady stream filling the lot.

And all the while, the bikers came;
he drank his water, and
allowed his thoughts to turn to those of fancy.

He was startled back to reality,
when her sweet voice asked,
“If he needed anything else.”

He finished chewing the piece of ice,
then swallowed it.
He replied to the woman,
“I’m good, thank you,”
and that was all he cared to utter.

She smiled, and then turned;
she struck a pose accentuating her buttocks,
she walked away.
He shook his head and took another drink

“Oh! What a good day this will be,”
he thought to himself.
He finished his water,
and then left a generous
If not absurd, amount of money as a gratuity.

She might have thought
the tip was for her outstanding service;
in part, it was just that.

However, he knew,
he had just paid for the most pleasing
entertainment, a patron could ever want.

She knew; her wiggle, equaled money,
and tonight those wiggles, were going to pay off.
She smiled and then waved to him as he left his table.

There was a spring in his step
as he walked to his Road King.
While preparing to leave he took one last look around.

He thought nothing could dampen
his spirits tonight;
he sat, astride his motorcycle,
and started it.

He had a huge smile plastered across his face,
when he jammed the Harley into first gear.
He twisted the throttle, and left the tavern.

Then made himself a promise,
he would return to the tavern on Front Street
Where he would watch,
the bikers arrive on their machines,
and the woman, with the wiggle, in her walk.