Grandma, If Eulogized Before Marriage

Alice is a ladies-man’s lady
with carved legs that never end
or dangle
but know their place
crossed at the ankle
like at Sunday mass, until
one finds the gumption
to get some attention
by gliding up
and sitting on
the other knee’s shoulder—flirting
her skirt hem
a rippling comber
trailing off her thigh.

And Oh.
the arch of her eyebrow
and pillow of her pout—
the ladies-man’s lady
with a gripping glance over
the ruby stain of her lips
on the rim of a whiskey Highball
sweating in her grasp.

Oh. The fellas, and oh, oh
the pool-players—
regulars in cuffed short sleeves—
elbow each other in agreement
not yet hip to her game.

She’s all catch and release,
throwing them back
at the corner of the bar
all the day long.

Come nightfall
she strays back
to her darkness-dampened duplex,
where she lies
in bed snapping her fingers
to the radio
of neighbor sounds
seeping through the wall.

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