ybor shoe licker

i don't know  what pov to take on this  legend.
i want to  get inside the licker's   head, find  out what
compells  him to stalk ybor, particulatrly the artists
who hang out  lookin for   a place
to  play  their  music without gettin hassled
but  i  bet  he  goes for any unsuspecting tourist
with a  look of  affability.  like you, pleased 
to be  sitting in a coffee house  where  free
music and poetry  entertains a  full house 
of culture freaks while  i lean into  your caress
allowing you to  look down  my little black dress. 
 we talk to  him  for  a moment,  he 
seems  familiar, maybe  i've  heard  you read?
 he shyly  turns his head
murmurs what  could be yes or  no
and it comes to me he's the licker but  i've only
seen him sidle by on friday open mic pointed
out by  victims past, and he was  always wearing
a  rasta hat.  this dude  has a soul train pimp  cap,
denim, studded  with rhinestones. he seems
pleasant  enough,  if a  bit shy. and gay.
a simple dark  scar  slices   his right  cheek
near  his bee stung  lips.  his  lashes are  long
his  countenance demure. harmless  boy.  not
the licker. i  gotta stop being so  suspicious.
i read my stuff on the  mic. when i  come back  i lean 
 into  you again.,  how  was  it? great you nod
and smile. we  watch  a couple more
poets  and  a  singer
 who wrote  a song about jesus
 you seem antsy  and  i'm ready to  leave
when  j  gig comes on  because 
i'm  still piqued at  him cuz of he
 dissed me last open mic
  i  was  at, 
 which wasn't last night's
he can gotohell the  arrogant  slut
until i'm not pissed & you interrupt
 hey
listen  not to  change  to  subject  but
i  gotta tell you what  happened back there
when you went up to the mic  that   guy
asked me if you  were  gonna  read poetry
and i said yeh,  duh  and then he  asks me
what kind of shoes i  have like
out of  nowhere
and i'm  like  ummm, timberlane  n then he  asks
can i see the  bottom of them? and  i'm  like
whaaa...?   but i put out
  my foot   sole up  and he drops
to his  knees like some  kind of worship
his head bowed then  he  licks the bottom
of my shoe  from  heel to  toe  all the while
watching me  with a .... a  ...
lascivious? i  suggest
no it was...well i  guess it  was  sexual  
i  mean  i do  feel violated  and he was
enjoying it so  much, it was  like  oh ..man ,
and then he ran  out the back door ,  wait..what?
i  thought you'd be  calling me  for  bullshit ,  i  thought
you wouldn't believe me
and that's  when i hadda tell  you 
what i should i have  told you  when he  sat  down
next to us  but  i wasn't  sure
that  was   him  really, besides i  thought
  he might be   a legend   the guys  made up
 to write obnoxious poems about
i  still haven't ever seen him do it with
my own eyes    for all  i  know  the  guys
  coulda  got to you while
 i was  reading , fed  you  this story  to play 
me even now  so  i'll  write another
poem  about this   poor  bastard
that licks  shoes in ybor city
and   he never did  any such
thing at all..  after  dinner and  a walking tour
of the famous  ybor- little slice  of new orleans
in cigar  city-    we  come  back
around  the  bunker and the guys
  are  basking in   remembrance
of applause for  the  performance
 we  walked  out on.    we stop
 and  laugh about how you
got violated by  the  legend   
and   m   sez yeh ?he got me tonite too!
and his story's just  like  yours
and b   sez  oh yeh, the guy's
 got  a  facebook page and  everything
and  j gig  just nods and looks  at  the bttom
of his glass and i'm wondering  how
you'll handle this  writer
 who  has  to hold on  to legend
iin the face of   an  otherwise
 convincing  reality.