(Poem)    degas-beautiful-woman  

It was our topic of discussion.

A man by the aisle said

he dated one once,

at great expense,

and wasn’t quite the same since.

Are they as good as they look?

Everyone raised their hands

and a lady stood up to speak:

“not morally,” she said,

“manipulative bitches,” said a college student,

“it’s anybody’s guess,” said a bus driver.

Tension was rising.

A man in the back asked why

you always see them in sexy sportscars

if they were just like the rest of us,

“why don’t you say something about money?”

someone yelled,

“they’re whores of the fat cats,”

yelled someone else,

and the lecturer put his hands up

to quiet the crowd.

He pointed to the curtain

and out walked an exquisite young woman

draped in a lowcut gown that clung

to her radiant features.

“Now,” said the lecturer,

“we’ve all indulged in generalities, but

would anyone care to address their comments directly to the lovely lady we have here today?”

The lecturer waited for five whole minutes

of silence until the bus driver stood up,

took a few moments to regain his composure,

and sweetly asked if the lady wouldn’t be

more comfortable if she had a chair,

“just to lighten the load.”