Another Night With Miss Pinkie Poem by Terry Collett

Miss Pinkie (she dropped
the title Mrs from
her name ages ago)
lay on the sofa

and said
take me if you want
spank me if you will
and he stood

looking at her
a glass of scotch
in his hand
the music of Mahler's

symphony number 4
coming through the door
from an outer room
she lay butt naked

her amble flesh
spread out
her hands resting
on her breasts

who's the orchestra
on the Mahler piece?
he asked
can't remember

she said shifting slightly
her blue eyes searching him
aren't you going to oblige?
she said

he drank back
the scotch
and put the glass down
on the small coffee table

can I sit first?
sure
she said and sat up
and moved over

to allow him room
beside her
he gazed at her
at her dyed blonde hair

at her eyes deep
like oceans of blueness
knowing she had
19 years upward on him

and all she wanted
was a few hours
of talk and laughter
and a leisurely screw

one of the old guys
died at the home today
he said
out of the blue

oh which one?
she asked
the one who sat
in his room each day

and looked out
the window
and said next to nothing
oh him

she said
think he was
broken hearted
she added

he took in
the beauty spot
on her cheek
like Marilyn used

to have years ago
so how about it?
she asked
are you ready for it?

the Mahler piece softened
some moving movement
well?
she said placing

a hand on his thigh
maybe you could put
on Brahms for a change
he said

sensing her hands
move upwards
maybe
she said softly

if you're a good boy
the lights were low
the lights from the street
added a different shade

of glow
ok
he said
and her hands moved

and did their work
and so did his
bit by bit
time over time

the music playing on
in the background
that and flesh slapping
and the sofa squeaking

was the symphony
of a sexual sound.