Tag Archives: Bob E Freeman

Cuckold

12 Nov

I was at the casino the other night

when I overheard a man explaining point spreads to his lady friend.

They were an older couple, early 50’s probably.

I looked up for a second, and caught her gaze

as she gave me a long, slow wink with her left eye.

I smiled back and focused on my kiosk parlays.

As I was making another bet,

she said something that made me laugh.

Then I heard her say,

“You sure seem like a lot of fun.”

I looked up and smiled, “why yes I am.”

Then she and her male friend told me who they were rooting for.

Let’s just say I wasn’t surprised when she told me she was an Arizona State grad.

It was only later that night when I was telling my brother about it

that I realized that she and her friend may have had an agreement for their situation,

which I wouldn’t want part of.

I’m not saying she wasn’t attractive, she was.

But I could never see myself being comfortable enough

to pipe down some guy’s lady

while they were in the room watching.

I would never be able to relax, much less perform.

If the guy even breathed too hard I would be done.

“Say man. You can’t be in here acting all weird. And zip your pants up man. What you think this is, Pee Wee’s Playhouse?”

“Hey man. You can’t be in here man. You’re ruining my concentration.

Here’s a dixie cup. You can listen against the door.

Or better yet, go in the other room and watch us on your laptop. I know you got a hidden camera in here. You weirdo.”

Bob E. Freeman

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The Metro, Circa 2013

22 Jul

Felt a lil bit like 1998

At a theatre not entirely like this one.

When I was in on the best kept secret

How do you describe the sound of something pure?

They played hard.

They played fast.

The Drummer played with the pace of a sled driver

pushing a team of huskies down a frozen snow trail.

They played Desire Lines four songs into the set.

The music tightened my eyelids pushed my head towards the floor.

I felt a splash on my shirt and face at the song’s apex.

The mega ending with the soaring guitars weaving into each other. 

Looked up and was annoyed;

not by the splash

but by the interruption:

Pulling me out of the music

Pulling me out of the moment

And pulling me out of myself.

And jealous of the bliss

on the drunk girl’s face,

Biting her lip, rocking out

with her long stringy hair twirling in her eyes,

as the beer kept spilling out her cup 

down off the balcony onto the floor below her.

~Bob E. Freeman

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