Monday, April 10, 2006


In complete social defiance
of her naïve caste,
and rigid moral code,
this masculine silhouette
swivels pastel licorice
her cloche hat cocked just so,
a flapper – no less
pert, than bold.

Her wiry bob,
sits tight and round,
string of glassy pearls
loosely tousled
bouncing up,
then down.

This brazen figment
carefree adorn,
totally unprepared
for Black Monday morn.
Her shapeless shift

passes in cool sway
and breezy strut,
chasing every mongrel
to find her mutt.

That endless vacuum
where a woman’s heart should lay
bass-tempo keeping fast,
clickety-clack shimmy unsurpassed.
Devil’s eye and empty slate
waiting for hat check promises-
one chit,
some chat,
vapid plaything,
speakeasy alley cat.

Just in time, disposable waif,
plotting second to moment,
in manic Charleston steps,
as her distraught lover leaps
from a fifth story window.


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