By: Lillian Brummet
The girl in white lace and shiny gray stockings,
Attacks every man with her nightmarish taunting.
Her beauty is rare, her movements are sure.
Her casual flirting leaves minds in a blur.
Women both hate her, and dote on her too.
They wish they could be that woman anew.
But they’re only themselves – though jealous they be;
Thinking: “from women like that, no man would flee”.
But she’s covered in make-up and shading and light.
And she’ll take many photos until she gets it just right.
These women wish with all of their foolish might,
That they forget who their man’s with tonight.
And as they wrack themselves over this orchestrated myth,
They enlarge the distance from the one they’re with.