THE SPANISH GIRL

No one told the Spanish girl not to dress that way;

Red spandex mini and sheer flowing top

attire not for work,

unless her work requires men to concentrate on things

other than packing small boxes into larger ones.

Her braid hangs,

swings back and forth,

breasts bounce

up and down.

Men on the platform move to share her door.

As the subway train halts they enter a space

perfect for men's pleasure never knowing

who's sister she might be or even who's wife.

And somewhere into the trip,

with the train's motion,

and their body's contact with the Spanish girl,

the subway's heat heightens.

And their eyes close,

Their legs stiffen,

Their thoughts speed up,

to a place where a red spandex mini,

a sheer flowing top,

belong.

June 1993 RV

©Inkfeather 2001