you could trace her travels around that house and yard
by a trail of lipstick-ringed cigarette butts and lost Bics ~
she’d painted a deep red outline with a slender brush
and tenderly she colored inside the lines with a lighter rose,
licking and pouting as she examined her artwork, the bright
bathroom light illuminating the central silky plumpness of
those two perfectly arched wings, reminiscent of
the airline logo of her once-upon-a-time employer . . .
Bon jour, Monsieur!
hair tossed, a provocative shoulder shrug
testing a flirt on no one in particular, aching for the days
when she didn’t need make-up to dare the whole world,
the days when her only war paint was her juicy raw youth
© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; Illustration ~ courtesy of morgueFile