Musings by The Poet Loriet
Saved by Fresh Fish
I shivered from a sigh that swept under my blouse
as he cruises up my drive in his seafoam-colored jeep.
My bikini top peeks out of my sheer white blouse.
I wear my denim mini-skirt, saunter over to him
with that high-heel wiggle that he's come to recognize
as a signature of my seductions.
I put up a manicured foot laced with my ankle bracelet,
show him a generous view of my tan, oiled thighs
as I swing into the passenger seat, pretend like
I'm throwing my legs across the moon.
I've got six tattoos and today,
he glimpses them all for the first time
as he leers at me over his sunglasses,
"Hello, little girl! You want some candy?",
he asks with a laugh as he smoothly hides
his keychain with some blonde on it
"No candy," I reply, "Just talk to the other woman.
Give her a call say: Keep the fur, and take me
for a ride, baby! I think I could love a jeep man
forever! Take me home, Daddy!"
We ride with the wind stirring our passion,
and I kiss his leg muscles as they work the pedals.
I work my way up to the hem of his Bermuda shorts,
surprising him and his coffee-gurgling neighbors
as my head disappears from sight.
He slams on the brakes as I sink my teeth into his thigh.
My sea of love flip-flops and my stomach lurches.
I feel nauseous and guilty, "I'm so sorry, know any
stores selling honey? Ancient herbal remedy," I explain
as I caress the bruise I left and he tries not to grimace.
So much for the sexy ride!
Just call me Grace!
No longer in an amorous mood,
he grumbles, "Pain makes me hungry!"
"I know of a great seafood restaurant
down on the river," I yell over the wind.
"Hot Fish! Good Hot Fish!"
He smiles and pulls me to him,
"Let's start over!"
Even goldfish will make love
if their heirarchy of needs have been met.
We all need something to do
with our idle fins.
Lori Beal
*result of a poetry challenge using snippets from Nikki Giovanni poems
as he cruises up my drive in his seafoam-colored jeep.
My bikini top peeks out of my sheer white blouse.
I wear my denim mini-skirt, saunter over to him
with that high-heel wiggle that he's come to recognize
as a signature of my seductions.
I put up a manicured foot laced with my ankle bracelet,
show him a generous view of my tan, oiled thighs
as I swing into the passenger seat, pretend like
I'm throwing my legs across the moon.
I've got six tattoos and today,
he glimpses them all for the first time
as he leers at me over his sunglasses,
"Hello, little girl! You want some candy?",
he asks with a laugh as he smoothly hides
his keychain with some blonde on it
"No candy," I reply, "Just talk to the other woman.
Give her a call say: Keep the fur, and take me
for a ride, baby! I think I could love a jeep man
forever! Take me home, Daddy!"
We ride with the wind stirring our passion,
and I kiss his leg muscles as they work the pedals.
I work my way up to the hem of his Bermuda shorts,
surprising him and his coffee-gurgling neighbors
as my head disappears from sight.
He slams on the brakes as I sink my teeth into his thigh.
My sea of love flip-flops and my stomach lurches.
I feel nauseous and guilty, "I'm so sorry, know any
stores selling honey? Ancient herbal remedy," I explain
as I caress the bruise I left and he tries not to grimace.
So much for the sexy ride!
Just call me Grace!
No longer in an amorous mood,
he grumbles, "Pain makes me hungry!"
"I know of a great seafood restaurant
down on the river," I yell over the wind.
"Hot Fish! Good Hot Fish!"
He smiles and pulls me to him,
"Let's start over!"
Even goldfish will make love
if their heirarchy of needs have been met.
We all need something to do
with our idle fins.
Lori Beal
*result of a poetry challenge using snippets from Nikki Giovanni poems
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Saved by Fresh Fish
Saved by Fresh Fish