Ravenous eyes trace her from head to toe,
they linger on the fullness of her breasts.
Catlike whispers salacious, oh they wish;
wet dreams to use her in manhood conquests.
Once again, she will dance, encourage lusts,
petty impotent legends, hoots and catcalls.
Pander to their small head, thickening lies,
sock-stuffed pants and dimwitted, hopeless brains.
Proud of her body, long chestnut combed hair,
demurely hide, drive them wild. Exercise
shaped her fine legs and her thighs, yet they will
never know the intimacy of her heart.
Marketing, yes, as spider to their fly,
fleece their wallets, push them beyond control…
Paid well, dressed, she leaves at the end of the night
so her daughter will never know this life.
“Tuesday Night, Foxy Lady Lounge” was printed in Crossroads, No. 8 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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