Fountain Square Mama in Heat
The neighbors call her Red,
the aging Maureen O'Hara look-alike
who parades up and down her cracked, littered
Fountain Square sidewalk in furry slippers
and a pink see-through nightie.
This time she ventures across her narrow
century-old avenue, dodging show-offs on bicycles
popping wheelies and a dog with no name,
setting her sights on The Alley Widower.
Looking for love. Doing what alleycats do best.
Underage hoods hoot and holler
as she sways and sashays.
From a rusted metal chair on his cluttered front porch,
Old Harold watches with freshly-lit pipe in mouth
as she opens his gate and eases toward him. Rising,
he shuffles before her. They silently enter his
musty bungalow, void of a female's touch,
and the screen door bangs behind them.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.