THE FADED JADED LADY

The telphone 

death knell it rang and rang and rang

no answer came

what was her name

how did she fare

in life 

what colour was her hair, 

the knife she used had red

a handle red

the tablecloth a dirty grey

her cigarrettes lay twenty

every day

her hair I said what was it 

green

no that would have been too rare

perhaps a blond 

but just because she bleached it out

for real

her nails ah those were talons long

she couldn't do her buttons up

with those

her toes were also purple blue

they used to stand out from her shoe

a strap across her ankle

black

her bra too was that

her face with painted lips of red

their dreaded puff of smoke escape

even the smoke was glad to leave 

this human chimney

join the breeze

pollute

her breasts were flat but hush

she had a bust so big and proud

all false of course

her thighs were buxom

bonny perhaps

in eyes of men and boys, 

her arms they sported bangles 

all colours, some stuck high up

her lashes, 

I jump about 

as she did 

that too and I couldn't make out 

the whole of her at once

as she flounced along the street

with the famous wobbling feet

and that bottom-swing so fetching

those wretches in the mall

they eyed her every part

not looking for her heart

instead 

well better not be said

her fart propelled her gait

its camouflaged smoke trail

described a tail

her hats and things like that 

were sky-bosh

crumpled flattened by her piles of clothes

at night

a sight she made 

if all be told

for man and child

their heads would turn and stare

how could she even dare to wear those holey tights 

with mini skirts that soon rode up

her underthings revealed

no not concealed a drop of her

the tops near reaching her nipples

her gaze gave her feelings 

sad

despite her glad smile boldly given

I wonder if there are such in heaven

she might think so

I don't know

we all become like driven snow

old age bleached and faded

gently soft and jaded

into our decline

until we stagger one last try to live it up

and cry our dismal tears 

at time its clock 

that ticks and ticks 

until it stops.