MISS MAITLAND OF THE D.I.Y. STORE

[dadio]

Miss Maitland
the student girl
who worked Saturdays
in the D.I Y. Store

wore tight jumpers
and jeans or pants
which hugged her body
in a way you used to wish

you could have done
but didn’t and when
she walked up
and down the aisle

to serve
waiting customers
she wiggled
her compact arse

in a way that caught
your imagination
and set it to thoughts
not poetic

you write poetry don’t you?
she asked
yes
what kind of poetry?

non rhyming
blank verse
kind of thing
you replied

what do you write about?
life and people
she stared at you
her eyes dark

and intelligent
what people?
yourself? me?
I don’t write

about myself
you said
taking in
her small compact tits

beneath the cover
of her jumper
the way
they occasionally wobbled

as she moved
or lifted an arm
do you write about me?
she asked

leaning closer
the perfume invading
your nostrils stirring
deep passions

no fictitious people
oh
she said
and went off

to serve a couple
who had entered
the store
you watched her hips sway

as she walked
the tight arse
going side to side
and you feeling

a poem coming on
the muse waking
from its doldrums
Ezra Pound has died

she said
on her return
he was a fascist you know
hated Jews and such things

you watched her lips move
wanting deep down
to connect with them
set yours to hers

invade with your tongue
but he wrote good poems
you said
the Cantos

the translations
etc etc
does that excuse him?
she asked

as a man no
but as a poet
his poems will survive
long after

any moral judgements
of his beliefs
however wrong
or misguided

he may have been
you said
drinking in
her aspect

her tits and arse
the way she looked
and smelt
the bourgeoisie breeding

of her mind and being
she walked off
to serve again
unaware what

beneath her clothing
you were seeing.

[creativesoul]

loved this-

[dadio]

Thank you, creativesoul.

[the mingo]

[dadio]