She regards us over her shoulder --
blue eyes, red lips -- through the parted curtain
of frosted locks. Left hand rests on the edge
of the Corvette’s open boot, cherry-tipped
talons as stark against the lacquered black
chassis as the ruby taillights that flank
the hem of her brief onyx minidress.
From darkness beneath the folds, stocking seams,
like a highway double line, race down,
past a coy California plate that coos
“UH OOH,” gleaming rear fender, exhaust pipes
that stare like some four-eyed monster past
ankles that end in lustrous ebony stilettos
bracketed left and right by tire treads.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony W. Artuso
