they follow like agents
    garbed in black suits
    and dark glasses, even
    when the moon's out.

    demimondes dressed in sumptuous
    silk costumes smelling like pink margaritas
    and the sweat of sex in the 5 a.m.
    twilight of mardi gras. they snag
    a ride in your bag, hide between
    thoughts and things and skin.

    hitchhikers with handwritten
    signs that say 'you', scratched
    in black scattered letters on
    torn cardboard, they loiter
    on the side of the road.

    don't lie.

    you feel safe when they're
    around, draped on your
    couch, feet on the coffee table,
    cigarette hanging from lips

    you love their gypsy
    presence, thick musk of music,
    smoky eyes, and finger bells
    that ring in b flat

    you offer them aged
    scotch in dim light

    and spellbound by velvet words
    intoxicated with long blue tongues
    you invite them to spend
    the night


Copyright © Sherrie Weller, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.