“Twenty-three years,” she offered,

From seductively pursed, faintly-painted lips,

To the recently weary, white-bearded men—awake now with appreciation.

“I love the snowy winters,” she declared, from above warmly-painted breasts,

To the suddenly attentive, somewhat haggard, men—wondering now of younger years...

“I could use a new car,” she quipped, from lips creased beneath calculatingly-batted, own-me eyes,

To the ringless man, who grinned with the others, once again glad to be broke, content to share their angle of repose.

-Over coffee, corned beef and toast