Thirty Days Of Julia: Day Sixteen

Tarot card. Devil mask. Dancer in flames.
Silhouette slinked across her TV screen,
split into multiple women who swayed
in a seventies boogie as sexy
as paper cut-out Pans People. Theme tune
gyrated and grated: a carousel
steaming in circles. Don't look, she complained.
It's disgusting. Demeaning. I wondered
what she could see that I could not. No flesh.
No features. Less erotic than a Bond
film's opening titles. As if sixties
permissiveness had somehow failed to cross
her threshold. This from a woman whose bra
was on display when she snatched the remote.