Leaving my apartment you head down Columbus Avenue
        Paws pulling pavement at your own puma pace,
        Green eyes off-gassing a quiet danger.

        Your fishnets snag the attention of men:
        Their eye sockets strain, bulge, disgorge the orbs
        Altogether. They land on the street and roll after you.

        By the time you reach the bus stop, your fishnets
        Already wriggle with a decent day's haul:
        Pale blues, rheumy grays, bloodshot browns

        All bugging from the openings in your fishnets.
        But nothing slows you down, my viscous valentine
        As you glide toward a seat in the back of the bus

        Anxious to get home to your room where you'll empty
        Your catch onto the dresser, tossing the dullest ones
        Out of your window and keeping the prettiest

        Which you stay up all night piercing
        With a needle and stringing onto a necklace
        You wear only for yourself and your loyal looking glass.

Copyright © Mark Wasserman, 2002 All Rights Reserved.