The Blonde In The Red Leather Booth Poem by John F. McCullagh

I was sitting in Katz Delicatessen
waiting for Sam to arrive,
when this blonde with her date
made their entrance.
They took seats in a booth on the side.

You know I'm not given to gossip
but I couldn't not hear if I tried.
They were speaking of sexual matters,
all about faked orgasms and lies.

The Blonde started bucking and shaking,
moving her head side to side.
She muttered God's name in her frenzy,
pretending her Lovers inside.

The booth smelled of sex and red leather
The Petite-Mort faked with great pride.
I muttered' I'll have what she's having.'
to the waitress who stood by my side.