ye olde sex shoppe

it's a late friday
night in old town,
alexandria, virginia
when your date, under
the silliness of wine
and wandering
says, let's pop in
there, this store here
between the icecream
shoppe and the card
shoppe and you say,
really, the sex shop,
you want to browse
the sex shop, and
she says it's called
ye olde sex shoppe,
are ye too old?
we're grown ups,
we're allowed,
it might be fun,
come on and she bounds
up the stairs. and
the store is packed
because it's the day
before valentine's
day, and it seems
that there is a run
on edible underwear,
and satin red costumes
not to mention
well produced high
brow movies with women
with names like jazzmin,
and bambilicious, and
sasha, and the men
with names like rock,
and steele, and
brad. and you see
the shark cages,
the monkey bars,
the leather, so much
plastic everything.
and you see your
neighbor joan who
teaches third grade
at the local
elementary school
with a shopping cart.
seems she need a
new pair of thigh
high leather boots
and a quart of
eco friendly
massage oil and a
riding crop. she
says hello, adjusts
her glasses and
quickly moves on
towards the dungeon
aisle and where there's
mr. feeny, a deacon
at the church buying
a mask, a studded
collar and a leash.
it's dizzying,
and you ask
your friend if she
needs anything,
because you are
suddenly sweating
and you want to go.
no, she says, i'll
come back later when
i'm alone, it's hard
to shop when i'm
with someone, and
i say, i know what
you mean. i'm
the same way when
i'm shopping for
groceries, which
head of lettuce
to buy, they all
look the same.