The First Hooker (or Dead Eyes In Chicago)

by Doug Draime

I was 19
on an all night
binge of coffee
and Vick’s
benzedrine
inhalers,
sitting in the coffee shop
of the Greyhound
bus station
on Dearborn.
I was watching the
dead eyes of
the waitress, arguing
with the dead eyes
of the cook.
There were 2 limp wrist faggots
cruising the stools
for a hunk
of meat,
with their cold dead eyes
A dead-eyed cop stood
by the door
to the street talking to
a pretty blond
hooker, and
her eyes were alive and bright blue.

My hophead friend, Roger,
from Evanston,
rode the El in everyday
on his
parent’s money
to score, and he always
bought the coffee.
Roger watched too, looking her
up and down, with his
own junk dead eyes; my eyes -
deadest of all,
getting an entrancing stare from
her alive, bright blue eyes,
while I
rubbed myself to an erection
under the counter.