The Babe Poem by John F. McCullagh

She was wearing a white linen suit,
the skirt just above the knees.
Of course her hair was golden.
Of course those breasts were D's.
Her golden tresses framed a face
with eyes, Aeolian blue.
Those hips could launch a thousand ships,
if Helen's myth be true.

I slowed down for the orange light,
not my modus operandi.
My wife became suspicious-
then she spotted my eye candy.
“Don't be staring at that girl.'
she said, petulantly.
'What girl? ' I said,
the light turned red,
disingenuously