The Dirty Boogie
Author: Bill Roberts
Being an older guy in Florida
has its advantages. Sometimes.
I sauntered into The Vixens Bar
and all I saw were ladies – all
different shades, shapes and ages.
Not a single guy, just me, single
for the evening, as it happened.
Most were dancing, boogieing
at the moment to loud music,
swinging and swirling, having
a good old time, happy looking,
not the downer types of widows
I often encountered at other bars.
I sat at the bar, ordered a Bud,
studied the field, and tapped
a younger lady nearby on her
deeply tanned shoulder, asked
if she’d care to do some dancing.
She looked me up and down,
apparently didn’t like what she
saw but said, “Sure, but not
with you, Bub – this is an all-
ladies club, get my drift?”
I paid up quickly, and boogied
to the safety of the parking lot.
(Published in 2007 in the Quercus Review)
Note: This is a piece of flimsy whimsy – at least, I’m rarely seen in Florida. This piece of trivial pursuit was inspired by the memory of living in Greenwich Village in the early Sixties, a brownstone house at 65 Perry Street, where I could walk to work about ten blocks down Hudson Street in NYC. We spent all our money, Irene and I, with so much to do in The City. One cold night on the way home, we ducked into a boisterous, jam-packed bar, sat at the bar and tried to get served. The barkeep kept passing us by, waiting on newcomers he knew, seemed happy to see. Irene caught on, tugged my sleeve, said, “Let’s get out of here – it’s a gay bar.” Damn, I felt foolish, looking around, not finding a single female, not even one in drag. Education comes in many forms, often when we’re not prepared for it.
