My Life as a Can-Can Dancer (Poem)

My Life as a Can-Can Dancer

by Anna M. Evans

There's nothing like it! When we form the line
most men lean forward slightly in their seat
and while we dance, forget to drink their wine
hoping for a glimpse of something sweet.
I flaunt my petticoats and flash my thighs—
high kicks, jump splits—it's meant to be erotic.
They all want us—I see it in their eyes.
The choreography is so hypnotic
they can't do anything but sit and stare
and at the end our skirts fly overhead
so they can see our frilly underwear.
I have my pick of whom I take to bed
letting them know that if they're happy to
they may leave gifts of money. Most men do.