“Twenty-three years,” she offered,
From seductively pursed, faintly-painted lips,
To the recently weary, white-bearded men—awake now with appreciation.
“I love the snowy winters,” she declared, from above warmly-painted breasts,
To the suddenly attentive, somewhat haggard, men—wondering now of younger years...
“I could use a new car,” she quipped, from lips creased beneath calculatingly-batted, own-me eyes,
To the ringless man, who grinned with the others, once again glad to be broke, content to share their angle of repose.
-Over coffee, corned beef and toast
Your Trojan Whorse
Three cheers for the Redbird of happiness!