My Husband, the Mobster
I’m dressed up like a slut,
four inch high heels, high cut
gown to hide my hairy chest.
A Marilyn mole on my cheek.
I take a hit of Acapulco gold,
and gaze in the glass at my tits.
It takes a real man, so I’m told,
to love the woman underneath.
At the Halloween ball, I strut
and flirt and have so much fun
that even Jesus and Magdalene
can’t conceive who I am,
while all of them are obvious.
including him across the room,
the thug, one hand on his cock
and the other on his gun.
God, I’m thinking, how great it is
to be free of that creep for a while
and have a minute alone
to feel pretty.
©James L. Ralston