Do your parents know
where you are,
dollar bills tucked in
tight spaces, 
burlesque pasties swinging
without missing a beat.
How some smells
never change with time,
like alcoholic drinks and Pinesol on cement floors,
except now Iʻm drinking coffee on a Friday night,
hauled out past my bedtime,
my virgin experience wondering
if drag queens at Sound Bar donʻt make more cash,
and if those “girls” coulda been young enough
to be my daughters.