She must be a special sort of woman

With her polka-dotted dress that agedwith

Time and cigarettes

She still does her hair inpin-curls

I'm painting a picture I've never seen

She is init

She half-heartedly smiles

And tells me what it lookslike

There's dust and rickety wood -

I saw it in a movieonce

Words

flow

down

her

dress

All the gentleman stare

They drool, but words don't flow downthem -

Just spit and pride

My picture is true -

She tellsme so

But she is false and I don't know

I paint but I don't trusther.

Her lipstick . . . discontinued

Her hair-dye . . . dulled andfaded

But the gentleman still stare

She says, "I still havemy legs,"

But she is false and I don't know

She bought newlipstick and got it on her teeth . . .