Sunset On The Boulevard Poem by Malcolm Wheatman

In a jaded cocktail lounge a clutch of older girls,
Never wives, who once perhaps played hard-to-get,
Now sidle round the corners of the passing years
And pour themselves into their drinks.

One dances backwards round the parquet squares,
Embraced by faded sepia dreams, a second sits
Idly manicuring; another repairs her make-up,
Stealing glances in her compact mirror towards the door.

In chunky beads and washed-up charity-shop glitz,
Arching backs, re-crossing legs and straightening seams,
Like restless cats on rainy afternoons they sit
Waiting to be picked up... by the bootstraps of their lives.