Patsy
By hilary west
- 915 reads
Patsy perched on a bar stool,
A one-night stand for someone lucky,
Someone lucky enough to stare into those deep green eyes
That have seen so much.
The black mascara shading the knowing eyes,
And drawing in the unsuspecting.
But Patsy cannot lie:
She believes in her allure.
Some would think it empty,
A sex-for-sale racket that took many prisoners,
The only ones she left behind the tutti-fruttis,
But Patsy gave her all, a true professional.
And now, in her sixtieth year
It's getting terribly difficult to court a trick.
The lower lights, the heavy make-up,
All a friend to Patsy.
Yet now it's over and not over,
It's all she ever knew.
So right on cue, she opens her lips,
Takes in another stray tongue.
When will it be her last?
Her boss wonders every day,
Even she does not know,
So until then it's more lip gloss, more eye shadow, and ever decreasing light.
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Comments
You have captured the
You have captured the juxtaposition of a woman attractive in capturing attention yet age taking its toll and masked with heavier make up. I can see through the low light and it's a sad but probably realistic image. Paul
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Hi Hilary,
Hi Hilary,
this poem reminded me of an older woman I knew in the womens refuge I was in back in the early 1980s. This kind of life Patsy leads, can sometimes become addictive, not just an ends to a means like people think. But those aging lines take their toll in the end don't they? A reminder that we shouldn't judge, as we don't fully know the Patsys of this world and their past.
A poem to ponder on.
Jenny.
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