The women who steal married men are all named Diane
or Kathy. They wake up in the night in Baby Dolls,
sexy and steamy beneath acetate sheets,
thinking of hot tubs.
...
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you did CPR on the stereotype and revived her and put color on her rouged cheeks...ahhhh, she makes eye contact and smiles, and I smile, too, when reading your poem.
Angel, I don't know how I missed this poem, its one of your best. It has a strength, no, a power that surges through it constant. I think I knew one of these women once. Phillip
An excellent poem - again, I don't understand the low marks on your work. I truly enjoy reading your poetry. This is very good. Warmest regards and respect, CJ
You've captured the essence of the subject very well, bar the subtle waft of complicity. Still, an excellent piece.
It's a perfect description of trash incarnate!