Alice is a ladies-man’s lady.
Long carved legs that never dangle
girlish toes in the water
but know their place
crossed
at the ankle to start,
like at Sunday mass,
until one gets the gumption
to get some attention
by gliding up
and sitting on the
other knee’s shoulder—flirting her skirt hem
into a rippling comber that trails off her thigh.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
The fellas,
The pool-players,
elbow each other in agreement
with nodding smirks.
The ladies-man’s lady
with a gripping glance over the rim of
a High Ball sweating in her grasp.
And oh
the arch of her eyebrow
and pillow of her pout
but she’s all catch and release,
throwing them back
at the corner of the bar
all the day long.
Come nightfall she
strays back into town
and her darkness-dampened duplex,
where she lies in bed
snapping her fingers
to the radio
of neighbor sounds
seeping through the wall.
love it but the only thing I might reconsider is “duplex.” This feels older than that.
I’m feeling a cot, maybe, in a cottage? a flat?
Very interesting point, I’m going to think about that. The neighbor is necessary.
agreed about the neighbor. I like darkness-dampened. I LOVE the pillow of pout. You’re so good at this.
I think I love Alice. I know I love this.
Yum.