Belonging To Ms. Cherry Poem by James McLain

The Swiss have their chocolate
and groups of rich girls
worse than mag pies never quite
full of chatter like prey on their hunting grounds.

Looking at me as I turned red are ripe Cherry's
sitting down quite as a mouse
over hearing them chat about grass.

Old men gathered around
catering uninformed all were beautiful
as only youth can a careless way
young bitches can be mindless rich spoiled girls.

In her early 40s
she's met by a modest swarm of them
in the warm wooden entrance
wearing a tight navy blue pressured
above the skirt a red tie
underneath the moderate, Pearl White neclace
sprayed across her fanned chest
silk collard blouse,
knee length and pointed black high heels shoes.

To meet you, I am happy, ' she said,
my name is Lucky said I, her name tag read Ms. Cherry.