Redhead Limousine by David Spicer

Hitching east of Vegas, I pointed my sexy thumb
north to the clouds, when a paisley Mercedes Benz
limo screeched to a stop on a scorched stretch
of highway, its rear door opening to my skinny self.
A voice yelled, Hon, wiggle your sexy thumbs in here
before I come out and plop you onto my hot lap.

I hurried to the car, sat between Lucille with the hot lap
and Conan, all six feet four of him and his huge thumbs.
No barbarian, he whispered in a tone I could barely hear
to Ginger, Jessica, and Nicole, Give this boy a benze-
drine before he falls over, under, and out from himself.
Hey, don’t laugh, Conan told the others, that’s no stretch!

Jessica stole the action from Conan and began to stretch,
cascades of hair flowing down her shoulders into her lap,
Don’t worry, babe, it’s not like we’ll hurt your little ole self
or any part of you, it’s just that Ginger saw you thumbing
in the desert and felt you’d like whooping it up in the Benz,
plus Nicole wants to cuddle with you, where she can hear

you breathe, hear you smile, hear you dream, so you’re here!
I couldn’t believe this crazy crew beyond the wildest stretch
of my fantasies: five redheaded, sequined drunks in a Benz–
with huge hands and hundred dollar bills, snorting coke on laps–
who fascinated me, a hitcher in the desert with sexy thumbs!
And I loved the way these entertainers enjoyed themselves

with a stranger who didn’t know them, much less himself,
so I asked them about their gigs, and why they were here.
All five laughed, sang as one, Because of your sexy thumbs!
Then Nicole cooed, Baby, why don’t you try to stretch
a little, close your eyes, and I’ll give you a doozy of a lap
dance everyone dreams about getting in this wacky Benz.

Woozy, maybe drifting under the sea–maybe with the bends–
I resisted sleep to party with five redheads, despite myself,
for I craved the time of my life, one falling into my lap,
one telling me I’d regret not enjoying luck as it fell, here
and now, Nicole urging Kiss my boobs! I felt a hard stretch.
No, not that–yet–but Ginger, Lucille sucking my sexy thumbs!

In the Benz they advised me, another redhead, why I’m here:
to raise hell, be myself with celebrity impersonators in stretch
limos, and to enjoy lap dances and sucking on sexy thumbs.

David Spicer
David Spicer has had poems in Yellow Mama, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The Laughing Dog, In Between Hangovers, The American Poetry Review, Easy Street, Ploughshares, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, and in A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Pushcart, is the author of one full-length collection of poems and four chapbooks, and is the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.

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