Poet’s Choice, On Passing Popsicle Women

Tantalize me glimpse
of these young skin things,

their drape revealing one small patch
of fleeting passion feeling–

O joy, look at my time fly!
Look at the ash heaps on their motorbikes!

First gear to cry by,
to show the silent multitudes true style

and go spinning skinned across the turnpike.

But then Bubblegum smiles
and turns on the old beguiling drama.

Proper white tiles grinning promises
easy as you pleases

but never a thank you
to gild the empty space between those teeth

nor the ink wings she preens.


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