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viesta@shaw.com

Mama’s Evenin Jig~

With a grin she undoes the snaps
and scatters shrapnel
with her double DD-size slingshot bra~

Her criss-cross support vouge
are loaded with lipstick catridges
she blasts out a double-barrel
of blood red and taunting berry~

Though her hips are as broad and fertile
as a Mississippi paddle boat
her shuffled-off Girdle squeezes
tighter than an Anaconda

With a flick of the wrist
her shreakin high heels
nearly take someone's eyes out~

And, still moving, she slips jewelry
into her stockings, lariat-style,
to take down another man,
running at full-charge~

Then she spits and licks the tips
of her sharpened eye-pencils,
wetting tongue to velvet blues and
midnight black~

Nearly through, she crams her
fragrant scarf in the last one's mouth,
drugging him to dreams to
Death of a Saleman~

There's not a Man left standing
when Mama does her evening jig~
all droop in a fatal stupor
as she marches off, making love
to another horizon~

© All Copyright, 2002, Viesta Morrison.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.