Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
A large guy in a cool hat dances in his wheelchair
He rolls by me singing a Ramones song
I trail behind him, we wind up on the café terrace
I drink coffee, he sips gin from a flask,
turns out he doesn’t need the chair all the time,
Just a pulled muscle, he explains, leaning on his cane,
Walk the exhibit with me, he suggests, throwing
an arm around me, rubbing my back through
my motorcycle jacket. We make out leaning against
Keith Richards’ signature and again in front of Tina’s
Private Dancer sequined dress, then we catch
the movie, he’s running his hand up my leg,
and I can’t decide whether I want it off me
or inside my pussy, so I compromise and move it
onto my tit and he rubs my nipple through
my t-shirt as we watch clips of past inductees,
reaches under my shirt in memory of Solomon Burke,
all around us Midwest mainstream America rocks
to Bruce, he slides his hand down my pants,
I cum in time to Shelia is a Punk Rocker –
all in such perfect symmetry that I know
it’s time to go. As I make my way out, I hear
him singing One Way or Another along with Blondie,
seems like he’s that guy who knows all the words.
Horror Sleaze Trash 