Her Work Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Her workbench is a tale of art.
Brushes of every size lay in wait.
She says it's heaven to spoil herself.
Paint, 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, and 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.'