THIRTY YEARS TOO LATE FOR THE PARTY
Foot on log, hand on knee; old photograph of me,
Crater Lake and my jeans, same blue hue,
Denim tight, fit so fine, my hair glows like thick honey
What a gorgeous girl I was; sad shame I never knew.
Shyness kept me from the crowds, round shoulders hid my bust.
A desk corralled my hips and thighs, a chair caressed my butt.
I should have been out dancing, luring masculine lust.
Why did I choose to study when I could have been a slut?
