Live Nude Girls! Las Vegas Peep Show - Original Poem
Sleazy and Depraved AF
Today I’m going to show you an original pom about a peep show that I went to in Las Vegas. So I happened to be in Las Vegas a few years ago, and one of my coworkers just happened to be there at the same time. And I was visiting family, and we went to a burlesque show. And on the way to the burlesque show I saw these signs that said: Girls, Girls, Girls that drew me in, especially being gay and all really, drew me in. So I wanted to go. To see the girls. So I dragged my friend there, and I’ll read you the poem,
Las Vegas Peep Show
Curved red neon letters above the doorway
“Live Nude Girls!”
The G in girls flickers
The front door has a large crack
Spider webs of broken glass expand outwards
I enter with my friend Andrea
A young straight woman
The front of the building is a sex shop
An old man sits behind the counter
Thin and oily smile stretched too wide
Rows of pornographic films line the walls
“Euphoria Exposed”
“Elephant Cocks Unleashed”
“Ten Girls — One Guy”
I say “Where are the dancers?”
“In the back behind the turnstile”
He hacks up the words
Phlegm coagulates in his throat
He spits it on the floor.
We pass through the metal turnstile
Inserting one dollar each.
The back room is filled with small booths
Arranged in a circle with a stage at the center
Pitch black tinted glass surrounds the stage
The booths are private
Intended for a single man
Covered by red curtains
The floors are littered with tissues
Large men filter in and out of booths
Cold, vulturelike eyes
There are no women
We enter a booth
Floor speckled with semen
A black screen faces the stage
With a slot to insert dollar bills
We put in a few bucks.
A stage is slowly revealed
Dim, fluorescent lighting
A floor unswept for years
Covered in mouse droppings
A woman comes onto the stage
She is in her twenties
Or maybe her thirties
Or forties
Hard living makes it impossible to tell
She is nude
There is no striptease
No sexy burlesque
She dances with no rhythm
Wriggles on the ground
“There’s no art to this
It’s pure sex”
Andrea says
We cannot see the other patrons
Anonymous
She approaches our screen
“Where are you girls from?”
“New York City”
Andrea winces and fidgets a little
“I love your nails!”
She calls out
The dancer props one leg high above the window
Gyrates her slot in our faces
“How about a little tip girls?”
We put a few more dollars in the other slot
Money disappears
She disappears
We exit the booth
Men stink of cigarettes and cheap vodka
Lurk in the hallways
Leer at us
“Off so soon?”
The old shopkeep says
“Thanks, we enjoyed the show!”
I tell him
I push open the door
A shard of glass cut my hand
Drops of blood swell from the wound
Off to the Casinos next.