A Mythological Autobiography of a Wolf, poetry

The Ritual

When I stepped from the stage
Ray’d always be there first.
Hug me, and whisper something funny,
I’d smile, the stage growl leaving my face.

Lo’d be the second.
She’d hug me.
Then came Sarge and T.C.
I’d meet their fists with mine.

And then came my ‘sister’s,’
Those adopted woman fluttering about
flattering me with every word from their mouths.

By this time, Ray’d be back from the bar,
flushing the ‘sisters’ from around me,
with a Heineken in her hand for me.
Sarge and Lo would then come back,
Say goodnight and go home.
T.C.’d go back to his girlfriend,
Have a few more beers
Then he too would come up to me and Ray
and say goodbye.

Ray and I would hang out
Talk until then.
That’s when he’d go back to the bar
Where she’d stay,
Drinking, chatting with the bartender.
Every once in awhile
She’d look for me.
And the same time I’d look over at her,
To make sure she was still there.
Our eyes would meet
I’d nod my head
and she’d smile.

By this time the ‘sisters’ arrive again.
Flurrying about me.
They were afraid of Ray.
And for good reason,
Ray didn’t like them.
She called ‘em Pigeons.
Whenever she came up to me,
They’d pull back,
chirping among themselves.
She did it frequently
Toying with ‘em.

I was usually the next to leave,
going up to Ray at the bar,
while a ‘sister’ waited for me at the door.

Ray stayed at the bar
Drinking,
Until the bar closed.
She’d stumble a block down to the building
Which held her apartment. To pass out.

Charlie, the bouncer, usually walked her to the building.

This was the ritual of my performances.

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