Claudia knows Potslam
fancies her. She knows
he would like to. She
knows other men watch
her pass. Knows they’d like
to touch her ***. Claudia
wants just to be loved.

Wants the kind of love in
those magazines she reads.
Potslam says he loves her
but it’s all cheap talk. His
eyes and mouth say otherwise.

She sees it in his eyes. That
first date as she waited
other men wolf whistled.

Eyed her. If eyes could undress
he’d be **** catching the cold
air standing there. Mother
said men were all the same.

Father misunderstood the
essence of woman. His history
of failures hammered and
impinged on bone and skin.

Claudia sits and lights her smoke.

Potslam talks and relates a joke.

She eyes him. Takes in his pitted
skin. Wants another to love not
**** her. Needs the loving arms
and warm caresses. The gentle
kisses placed on lips or cheek.

She watches Potslam smoke
and exhale. Sees his thick lips
give birth to smoke. His yellowed
fingers hold the cigarette. He
smiles that smile. Shallow as
a puddle. He moves in and out
of shadow. If only love were there
she says inwardly noting him ****.

She feels no love or such no aching
or piercing of her delicate heart.