Getting Into The Spirit (Poetry)

“Come on,” he said, as she stood like a wallflower,
sober and shy as a violet in blue,
“give it a try — you might really enjoy it!”
His eyes fixed on hers seeming honest and true.

So she sipped from his glass, coughing when the pale liquid
caught in her throat and she gasped with the pain,
then took a deep breath and another small mouthfull,
steeling herself as she swallowed again ...

Hot as a fireball, the drink hit her stomach,
spreading its heat in a liberal glow
that made her feel flushed with a sense of wellbeing,
warm and relaxed as she swayed to and fro

and into his arms — dancing close — and the music
was intimate, smoochy, romantically slow,
her softness inviting, his fingers went walking —
her body said ‘yes!’ but her voice told him ‘no!’.

He poured out sweet words as he poured from the bottle,
filled her young ears with the prettiest lies,
believing her tipsy, he thought that she’d never
discover the wolf in his denim disguise.

After five glasses the room began spinning,
he groped for her hand as the floor slid away
and he sank to his knees, his embarrassment showing,
and gave an incredulous howl of dismay.

“You need some fresh air,” she said, not too unkindly,
settling him down on the patio steps —
sprawled where he lay like a carved Dionysus
caught in his cups — the now impotent lech.

Back at the party the scene was still swinging
and bodies had coupled with consummate ease,
more alcohol loosened her last inhibitions —
so she climbed on the table and did a strip tease.