Damien gets ready for his night out.
He plans to hit up a couple of bars
and nightclubs and go walk around about
the downtown area beneath the stars
between shots of whiskey and vodka, stout
beers and pales; scoring snake eyes and boxcars.
It's Saturday night and he just got paid
and hopes to God that tonight he gets laid.
He hops into the shower lathering
his hair, his chest, his crack, his balls, his schlong,
he puts on a dress shirt while blathering
pick-up lines and one liners that belong
in a blue movie, he starts slathering
cologne on his nuts while singing a song
by the weeknd: "often, often, yes I
do this often" something he can't deny.
He calls a taxi, the taxi arrives,
he gets in and fastens fast his seatbelt.
the cabbie take him to a club that jives
with poetry readings that are heartfelt.
he gets out and pays the cabbie in fives
he's in the club and feels the cabbie dealt
him a lousy card, this is a sausage
party with girls who took the blue ball pledge
He figures what the hell and at the bar
orders an Jimador margarita.
A woman approaches him with a star
tattoo on her back and a Christina
piercing and bright colored contacts that are
purple, who came here from Argentina
and studying on a scholarship at
San Francisco State, she begins to chat.
She tells him she's studying creative
writing with an emphasis in fiction.
From her accent it's clear that her native
tongue is Spanish, but it's from her diction
that he can tell she studies English, give
her a minute to talk and the friction
of her tongue around her mouth will give you
the desire to learn Spanish through and through.
They talk for an hour and Damien asks
if she wants to head to his hotel room
she says: "not a chance" and Damien basks
in a glory that quickly turns to gloom
she walks away and the rejection tasks
Damien's ego: "Witch, where was her broom."
Feeling awkward from the rejection he
heads to a club where scores might be easy.
He heads to a heavy metal club where
the girls have ears full of steel and silver
and chrome and plastic and brass and have hair
in shades of pink and green and blue, glitter
on their eyes, with torn shirts, their tummies bare.
It's this aesthetic that will deliver
a jolt of dopamine straight to his head,
perhaps he will take someone here to bed.
A band called Demon Penis 666
is playing Slipknot covers, "Wait and Bleed"
"Heretic" and so on, and on their dicks
are socks, they're wearing nothing else, a bead
of hot sweat trickles down their crucifix
like frames, the club is sweltering indeed
and Damien hopes to cool off with a
daiquiri which will keep the heat at bay.
Damien walks up to the bar to get
a drink, a daiquiri or mojito
or something else that's cool to stay his sweat.
The guy bartending places a veto
on the order: "no cocktails, just shots, fret
if you'd like, I won't make a burrito
either, just deal with it." This place really
sucks, no mixed drinks, that's just straight-up silly.
Across the bar a girl with pink hair throws
backs shots of Jack Daniel's. She is dancing.
She's so drunk she can't even count her toes
and to Damien's luck she is glancing
in his direction, which eases the throes
of his recent rejection, he's prancing
toward her as if his dick were swinging
mightily with the glory he's bringing.
She's chasing the Jack Daniel's down with Coke
which surprises Damien because Jack
D is tasty enough, what kind of folk
chase something sweet with something sweet, that's whack.
seeing this silliness happen awoke
the snob in him, he thinks of turning back
and finding some other girl to talk to,
somebody who has at least half a clue.
But again he figures what the hell and
decides just to make the best of what he's
got, the music concludes and a new band
called Prosthetic Anus begins to please
the audience with Korn covers, they planned
on singing "Wicked." With covers like these
Damien decides his situation
isn't the worst thing in the whole nation.
Damien orders a PBR and
sips his drink slowly, the taste of the cheap
beer is like fermented wheat, when the band
switches songs Damien decides to creep
toward the pink haired girl and hopes to land
a bed friend, lodging himself deep
in her heart, or perhaps that other part
like Cupid shooting off his golden dart.
She's so drunk, her dancing is terrible.
She's had way too much Jack Daniel's to drink.
The vision is almost unbearable.
Damien shows his interest with a wink.
Her dancing is nearly comparable
to a kind of salsa while twerking, think
of Pinocchio with his strings twisted
this way and that while also resisted.
They talk: she just broke up with her boyfriend
and decided that she wants to live it
up and this is the way that she'll amend
the pangs of a broken heart and acquit
herself of guilt from having to pretend
that everything was right with him. They sit
at the bar and talk and he tries to see
if she'll dance with him at the DoubleTree.
She says: "Not tonight, maybe some other
time, here's my number." She jots her number
on a cocktail napkin. Why'd she bother
her number starts with 555. Bummer.
He thought that it would be nice to smother
his face between her breasts and then slumber
with her beneath the sheets at a motel,
this bullshit is something like what the hell.
Damien thinks to himself that there must
be some kind of phantom blocking his cock
he swears that he'll get laid tonight or bust
even if it means that he'll have to mock
a woman out of clay, or, like God, dust.
these rejections come as a major shock
to Damien, typically it's the first
woman who quenches his sexual thirst.
But now he is 0 and 2, which is bad
which is nearly a complete disaster
it's almost as if the women are clad
in chastity belts or by a pastor
being watched or they are with a comrade
blocking fast their entrance ways with plaster.
Damien will give it another shot
even though he is by rejection fraught.
Going to a hip-hop club is his ploy,
there has to be someone he could sleep with.
He'll order a Johnnie Walker Rob Roy.
third times a charm, maybe even the fifth
time, if only the women weren't so coy
or perhaps instead he were Robert Smith
of the Cure, he'd massacre the groupies
and pay for good times and bad in rupees.
The Night is Still Young by Nicki Minaj
is playing in the background while he drinks.
The lyrics are something like a collage
and the music blares throughout the precincts.
A woman whose outfit is a montage
of yellows comes into view as he blinks
to see if she's real because her outfit
looks like a mirage in a desert pit.
She walks over to him and she asks what
he's drinking: "a Rob Roy" he tells her, she
asks to take a sip, she has a great butt
and through the yellow of her dress can see
the good stuff as clearly as in a smut
magazine. She vomits on his shirt three
times. Damien decides he's had enough,
he's never had a night nearly as rough.
"Damien Aquino's Saturday Night" by Kenneth Larot Yamat
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