Moving On Blues

Screen door creaks as I pull.
Blindly reach for cloth to mop sweat.
A hand covers mine, shivers up my spine,
“Sugar, what you lookin to get?”

“Pull back now, boy, no time for games!”
A cold brew finds my hot hand.
Tickles my mouth, bittersweet bubbles.
We lock eyes, knees become quicksand.

Band is tuning up, long fingers on fretboard.
Intimate, knowing each sensual space,
she cries out for more loving, he’s ready.
I wanta rip up that Strat, take its place.

Cotton uniform soaked through.
Fan blowin, my nipples showin.
Nothin better than hot butter blues,
Saturday night with nothin to lose.

Summer soon ending, softly fading
Mirror telling me lies, I’m hatin’.
Lil’ songbird the band just hired,
pretty young, ripe, not hesitating.

A woman gotta expiration date,
stamped right across her face.
Ain’t right, just the way of fate.
I look at him, was it all a waste?

Gotta use it while you got it.
Another town, joint, blues man?
Summer ending, need a new fit.
Fresh harvest, offers new plans.

By Kathie Stehr
Sept. 1, 2021