The Constant Anonymous Stripper

She wouldn't be around just
for jerking off or anything vile
like that, my friend JJ and I
agreed. No, she would be there
for us when we need a pleasant
break from the torment of creating
poems and sculptures. Always
there. Always smiling. Always
alluring because she remains
nameless. If her name were ever
mentioned, well, that would ruin
the whole thing. Things start
to get really messy once you throw
some names into the mix. Names
always make you think of siblings,
or past lovers, or ex-wives, or
women you wish you had
the balls to talk to when you were
in high school. It is only with great
regularity that a good poet or
sculptor thinks of such things.
That is to say, it is not always.
There is, in fact, a need to do
things other than sculpting busts
and verse. And JJ and I agree
an anonymous stripper, classy,
full of grace, silent, always around,
might just be the ticket. Nothing
highbrow or intellectual, no
life energy sucked out being
drawn into stories of war or
homicide or insanity, no tidbits of
inanity clouding the mind.
The hard part for me would be
the no-name thing. I didn't admit
this to JJ, but there's no way I
could ever watch a woman, you
know, performing intimately
and not want to stand right up
and ask her name. Really, I know
from experience, there's no way
I can just sit there and watch. I
don't dare even walk into the
same room with a stripper (again,
experience won hard). So,
I guess the hardest part in the end
will be breaking the fact of my puerile
inability to accept anonymity to JJ.

(2006)