Karl Koweski

Post image for Karl Koweski

by horrorsleazetrash on September 13, 2010

Karl Koweski is the 259th resident of Alabama to ever read a book and he’s accomplished this feat an astounding 43 times.

the broken stripper

the dim lights couldn’t conceal
the fact the next stripper
mounting the buffet-sized stage
wore bicycle shorts
rather than a g-string
and a torso-obscuring blouse
instead of pasties

she possessed the
anatomical features of a watermelon
with spat seed eyes
and a smile like
a chewed green rind

she wobbled on the stage
occasionally
brushing against the pole
the duration of the song
swaying without rhythm
without removing any clothing
ignoring the eviscerating laughter

“hey manager!” my buddy hollered
“come quick!
our stripper’s broken!”

her dark glistening eyes
registered zero awareness
her flaccid expression
scarcely changed
when I approached the stage
on a wave of
escalating laughter

I handed her two dollars
and turned away
getting halfway back to
the howling red Os of
my friends’ guffawing faces
the stripper yelled
for my attention

thinking she’d decided
to give me a peek
at her busted titties
beneath her
puritanical blouse
I rushed back to the stage
where the non-stripping stripper
handed back a dollar
whispering

“you accidentally gave me two dollars”

support system in times of sadness

I knew Sharon would be upset
having had an appointment
with the vet this morning
to put down her sheltie, Nike
a constant companion
for the last fourteen years

I knocked on her apartment door
with my libido geared toward
a bout of hot mourning sex

only to hear Nike pattering
into the foyer as Sharon
answered the door

goddam, I sighed
Sharon, never one to tolerate
sex with me
while in her right mind,
eyeballed me suspiciously

“just in the neighborhood,”
I muttered nervously
suddenly aware of the
Irish whiskey reek wafting from me
“I thought you were
gonna have Nike put down?”

her slender hand petted
Nike’s crown as the dog
wheezed and chortled
“he was so responsive
this morning, I couldn’t”

“yeah,” I commiserated,
“my hair never looks better
than right before I go
have it get cut”

we stood there
Sharon, Nike and I
forming a Bermuda Triangle
or sorts that sucked
the common sense
right out of the air

“well, maybe tomorrow
will be his day,” I shrugged
“catch you around soon”

in the hallway, I tried
to remember who it was
had the sister sick with cancer
Becca, maybe?

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