SIXTEEN

Sixteen,
And already she's got
The sidewalks hot
With her hips 
Unscrewed;
Makes the traffic stop.

Boys gape
From their windows,
Men finger their flys,
While widows stare
With disdain 
Undisguised,
Still she remains
With her cherry tits blooming,
As men's pant pockets rise.

Brush in hand
She stands,
Thrusted thumb
Flirting with cars
Combing strands
As tires shriek
Around corners,
And honks shout 
Through the air,
Her lips pout
With a Marlboro
Spitting smoke everywhere.

A Seville calls her over,
Has his stick shift in hand,
But she's had far better
for ten bucks in a van,
So she leaves him
To fondle
Mascara and rouge,
And wink at drivers
Who whistle
At the ripe ass they cruise.
Her nose:
So defiant,
Held up in the air,
Knows it all,
Has been everywhere,
For she's 
Tough,
Mean,
Sixteen.

Mary McGrath
6/80-Copyright Mudborn Press-all rights reserved

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