Behind the screen, her dress shifts
Allowing meticulously placed sequins to glitter
Over smooth, lithe legs

******* compacted tightly to the chest
In a tight hug
Like the cold, soft clasp of a mother hands

Hair bounces vertically
Sprouting like yellow cress
In all the designated areas

Her imperfect movement conjure images of an animal;
A new-born
That men across great swathes of the country will appreciate
As though a painting in a museum

A painting that’s lifeless eyes will follow them
And only them
Across the room

Their pupils flitting, dilating, observing in abject arousal
To have been chosen is not a perhaps not a right
But an expectation

For this woman with arms like rubber and the joy of an uninhibited child
The carelessness of an *** past its prime
Drawn forward by sheened eyes

And youthful spring.
I draw my eyes away.