Her Work Poem by Mark Heathcote

Her workbench is a tale of art
brushes of every size lay in wait
she says it's heaven to spoil her-self
paint and pamper and decorate.

My job is to look my very best
and to put out my chest, pose and smile.
Wink in the right direction if it-
serves me well; I'll put you under my spell.

Hair blonde, then purple and pink the next?
Body inked, all is a canvas, and nothing is real.
The hair, the eyelashes, her teeth-whitened
and even her face has had a peel.

An all-over body tan straight from
a spray can, isn't it obligatory
to then carry a Pomeranian a-
Pekingese, a Shih Tzu in a Chanel bag.

'I wear Stuart Weitzman heels, baby,
I've-got-status, baby, to hell with you.'