• Keith A. Kenel is an aging cyclist, former actor, failing triathlete, prolific poet, terrible singer and ponderer of ideas large and small.

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Tag Archives: White Dynamite

Puffed Up

12 Friday May 2017

Posted by keithakenel in Poetry

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Tags

"Sugar Walls", Bait, Club, Desire, Lust, Sheena Easton "Strut", White Dynamite

Dressed to the nines and cruising for a ten
little puffed up man was on the prowl again.
He knew where all the kitties loved to lounge about
hunted for sugar walls and Sheena’s strut pout.

Money in his pockets, had a lot of blow,
carried protection for dark places that he’d go.
Just wanted a good time, simple hit and run,
looking to hurt nobody, just angling for fun.

Drove into the city where all the cool cats meet.
Favorite club was pulsing to a driving beat.
Sweet chicitas roamed in clusters and pairs;
felt his desire swelling, musk perfumed the air.

Hungry wolf was focused, sniffing sweetest game,
wild side kept undercover, acted mild and tame.
His eyes he kept covered behind sunglasses dark,
flashed his pearly whites, ached to both bite and bark.

A coltish filly struggled in her platform heels;
she looked so young and tender, like a delicious meal.
Lobo saw such fresh meat, two thighs and ample breasts
instantly decided she’d be his next conquest.

Whiskey he was slamming made him feel in the pink,
he thirsted more to lick her rather than liquor drink.
Little puffed up man signaled for one more,
he threw that bottom up then headed for dance floor.

He’d trained to be a hunter, a gatherer of flesh,
carefully he circled her, knew soon she’d be enmeshed.
For a generation he’d practiced his trade,
little girl succumbed easily to the traps he’d laid.

Puffed up flashed his powder, his white dynamite,
suggested that they slip away somewhere out of sight.
Went out to his car, his arm around her hip
quid pro quo was understood; they’d both take a dip.

She was such a pretty thing, with great big bouncing eyes;
this score played repeatedly was his favorite reprise.
Plan had been laid carefully, had a quiet, dark spot,
Puffed up led her to backseat where party could rock.

He was so enraptured by sweet thing from his dreams
no clue there was a problem till he heard himself scream.
Little filly was no conquest, rather she was bait,
puffed up man knew he was a victim just a bit too late.

The boys they were laughing as puffed up they did beat
they took his car, his gun, his blow and left him in the street.
Puffed up once so guapo, now a defeated man
his face twisted and broken no more is a sham.

The mask of beauty outside that belied puffed up’s soul
has been stripped away and ugly we now behold.
Puffed up no longer cruises for honeys beneath the sheets,
he’s gone to a darker place where women he chokes and beats.

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