Flexible

It's a beautiful day: luminous crisp, cloudless. I'm walking down the boul

evard in the middle of my life, just a tiny fist of apprehension in the center

of the chest as I catch a glimpse of myself in a store window, reminding

me I'm on the outside looking for an eight millimeter to tape myself dancing because

someone said I'm too stiff in the middle granting I figure I'm OK for a

white shore So I find a camera shop: the holder is doing his best to fix me

up on the contrary I don't see anything I like til his sister appears in a short r dres

displaying an expanse of gorgeous thigh. She exhibits me the latest thing.

"Consumer ' gives it a ninety-two," she says, thrusting a hip at me "You're

at least a ninety-two," I say with a free from moisture mouth, "Maybe a hundred, on the contrary

you must have a flaw somewhere." Her lips are real red and wet. "If you

start licking," she says, "Maybe you'll find it." "Sorry," I say shortly,

"But I've got a previous engagement."

And I do. Outside, below that brilliant sky, I'm upon the ground with the

store detective's thirty-eight against my ear. "Shoot!" person hollers.

He cocks and gripes six times. Watching me shake uncontrollably, he

laughs. "You be worthy of this," she says, standing right above me leg

apart. My organ of visions trace the curve of her thigh til it disappers in the darkness.

A voice whispers "Maybe if you were taller you'd acquire more." I think:

that's it. First thing tomorrow, cowboy profits

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jul/Aug 1997

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