by Virginia Watts

Poem published by The Write Launch

Black two-piece suit
piped gold or silver
Cucumber slice eyes
Pink lips, pink toenails
Can of Fresca, ashtray
in shade under a recliner
I can still see Mrs. W
tanning in yard grass

Neighborhood men lapped her up
Mowing lawn rows
Yanking leaves from gutters
Resealing driveways shiny
Even my own dad couldn’t resist
the occasional glance, an ogle
as he scrubbed our birdbath
frequently and thoroughly

Mrs. W wasn’t like my mom
She wasn’t like any mom
Chain smoker for one thing
Drove her Country Squire fast
Wore miniskirts, skin tight jeans
Knotted summer tops below her bra
exposing flat stomach, bellybutton
But she did have kids – four of them

One day, I am washing my bike
Mrs. W is hosing her Squire
Bending over in white hot pants,
a bright red bullseye on her butt
A heart bite of warm, fresh blood
I look both ways, sprint across the street
You’re bleeding!
Mrs. W whips around to face me
A girl of seven gripping a soapy sponge
Better get used it
You’re cursed too

Copyright © 2021 Virginia Watts. All rights reserved.