The BB and G (Brimstone Bar and Grill)



The BB and G

midnight rain

and sizzling tires

hypnotize the city


as i sail down sixth

foggy steam settles,

liquid weight

sinking my conscious


white and yellow lines


street lights melt

against the windshield

streaming down

in random




pop-pop-popping gravel

grade the undercarriage


i pull the wheel left

of instinct


my blood pumps

in my throat,

a boney hand

pressing my larynx

and jugular

bulging my eyeball veins

scratched by the sands

of sleep

as adrenaline fades

i turn on the a.c.

wipe my forehead

and blast the radio

an old Elvis song

zz…going to a party

at the county jail…zz


the rain subsides

to neon signs


toward a driveway


“where every hour is happy hour”


parking lot’s empty

but i see a crowd

thru the window

a cowbell rings

as i open the door

“what’s your pleasure?”

asks a dark handsome bartender

“ah, coffee…hot and black”


“like your women” ha, ha


there are no tables

just booths

wound in a maze


i walk around a corner

a woman in red

touches my arm

sending a wave of chills

to my shoulders

settling in the roots

of my hair

“buy a lady a drink?”

“my name’s Samantha

i work for free choice

have you heard of us?”


“yea, you’re that pro-abortion

group that rallied at the Spectrum

last weekend”


“pro-women’s rights.

why are you here?”


“i pulled over for coffee”


“yeah, right,” she snickers

we walk past booth

after filthy booth,

an ammonia smell

mixes with ether and alcohol

like a hospital trauma ward

or nasty book stores in Jersey


in booth thirteen

a man’s kissing a man

while a gorgeous blonde


and madly fingers herself


“who are those men

in booth thirty-one?

looks like they’re playing cards

poker, blackjack, or something”


“mostly doctors and lawyers”

she says with a wink

“they lust for money

and power vice sex”


four men take turns

with a redhead

on a table for two

filling each orifice

i cringe as she screams

mad, erotic curses


number nine’s a dilly…

a man’s getting a blowjob

while loading a syringe

when the woman finishes

he shoots her again

at last the bar

“ a drink for the lady”

i shout to the tender


“Samantha,” he yells

above the loud metal music

“the usual?”


“yeah, Stan, cocaine

and a Collins”


she pulls out a joint

pressing it to my fingers

“no thanks, i’m driving”


Stan stares at Samantha

they stare back at me

and laugh to hysterics

tears pour down

their quivering cheeks

i toss him a five

and push the door open

but i step in a cellar

and smell rotting flesh


men and women in bondage

are being sexually tortured

i see a young boy

emasculated and crying

“help me, mister

help me!”


i shove back thru the door

into the club



please tell me

how can i leave here?”


she presses against me

runs her hand up my thigh,

“you can’t get out, silly boy

why do you think

they call ‘em bars?”


Caribbean Sea ‘89


Intro Image - "Brimestone Bar and Grill" by Jerry Browning
Empact Image -
"Getting a Grip on Being Transgender" by Ed Meredith  (website)

Play "The BB and G" recited by Michael W. Guthrie







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