She wasn’t going to blow it this time
She would blow him, of course:
she had him hooked, she was sure of it
this time she wouldn’t have to drive to his townhouse in dark glasses,
begging him to be reasonable,
begging him for just One More Chance
Hadn’t they shared a lust so strong
it felt like love?
No, that was him.
Hadn’t they shared a need so intense
it could only be love?
No, that was her.
But they shared concerts, picnics,
they ballroom danced, even,
ate deviled eggs and shrimp
sipped champagne on the condo terrace
the grey shrouded bank reminding them of the time and the temp
and the time was now for him to extricate himself
because her theatrics were starting to scare him
and it was time for her to move in for the Kill,
press her honey-court advantage
because she could feel him pulling away…
She watched her mother lose her luster
then her youth
then (not at all naturally)
desperately pinching, pulling, snipping, plumping
til eventually her dates, like her skin, dried up
not long after
so did she. (R.I.P.)
So when this Tiny Jew charmed her
she thought maybe, finally, her Prince had Come!
But she was older now,
and male attention wanders as the flesh wears away…
… and all the desperate pinching, pulling, snipping, plumping
worked as well for her
as it did
poor mother. (R.I.P)