MODEL BEHAVIOR

Lights.
Music.
Fashion.
She descends,
half starved
a vanishing wisp
dissolved in flashbulb adulation.
Giraffe-like strut
swallowing foot lamps
and one amber spot
cocked just above the collar
belying her chalk white
cocaine and death mask visage.

Eye brows tweezed, isosceles
and vexed by puckering stomach
growls pursed tight
against bee stung lips –
hair tossed about
in knotted frustration
at the tryouts.

Designer bone rack
for the jet set.
Everything –
but luck, happiness
and reputation
in hasty jaunt by her side;
the wherewithal to pour -
not over eight by tens -
but gravy, sweet and sour
as she feels thin lesion silk
sausage casing
slide up, then down
her shallow ribs.

She could kill for that Ford contract
or a cheese burger…
whichever appeared first
before her cold greedy hands
to squeeze and devour.

Lights.
Music.
Stilettos poised
digging deep into her pockets
to bring up lint,
cotton, hay and rags
and that fetus
her 94 lbs. could not carry to term.