Edna drew
puffs
from a menthol light
as if it might be
the last smoke she'd ever grip
between her teeth;
aging lips--
two accordions
parting and pleated
in every breath.
Eyelids heavy with
liner and shadow,
caught in creases
deep as folded parchment
put away
in some musty drawer
no one ever opens--
she remembers.
High stepping in
high heels;
black garter belts,
and bustiers...
red lipstick
and big tips
from nice smelling
gentlemen.
Expensive cigars lit
on a boozy ocean;
her flame-glow hair
chasing over
perfect shoulders down
a bare back...
she'd twirl
and turn them on;
with a wave of her fan
she'd be flying
a burlesque Madame.
And there'd be Jeff
all trim and taunt,
knocking those piano keys
while the ladies strutted
their stuff.
Later, he and Edna would
rumba in the back room;
she can still feel him
grinding somewhere between
the skips and scratches
of the old vinyl record
moaning in the background
as she downs gin and tonic.
Sagging eyelids nearly closed
Edna spreads her arms,
staggering;
attempts a hip roll
and takes the stage
of her feather girl memories
for another evening's encore.
