There was a lady
with immaculate black
ponytail. I eagerly looked
but not one hair was
disarranged. And not

simply the ponytail. It was
this soft, slick, shiny, furry,
perfect, oval jewel on her
pate. Society would dub
me creepo if I had chased

her, but her red pants
fit too perfectly and her spicy
white blouse exploded
roars of light too good
for this rotten neighborhood,

so I wanted to tag after
and listen to her tell me
about all of the good things
that have happened to her,
listen with glowing eyes

to her indefatigable beauty,
but I am no creepo, so here
I sit, dead and dumb.

.