Sultry New Orleans: The Cat Poem by elysabeth faslund

.
Gilded, glistening, swinging fringe
On a satiny, no-imagination-left
Tight sort of blouse...
You know.

Lavender-heaven-colored,
Body-clinging pants,
Making women sigh to slick
Into a pair and
Whore their husbands.

Platinum, silky hair...long, seductive
Enough to lure Samson from the
Dead...hanging down her back
Like a wild filly's mane.
She hasn't found the man to tame her.

Nails that should have been a panther's,
Ready...willing.
Alabaster skin, misted-green eyes...
That see what she's doing...
Knows what she's doing.

Doing what she knows...to get something
Special.
She's a bitch in heat. And the night
Is red hot at this hour.

She's sitting at an outside cafe in the
French Quarter...casually glancing at an
Interesting specimen. Then away.
She knows something, this street queen.

She is the Queen of Spades, and
He will find her.
Like a male animal...
He will sense her.

And she will be there.
Tonight she is ready.