His Mother's Best Friend.

[dadio]

O’Brien fancied his mother’s best friend,
Mrs O’Hara, she with the daughter
Who showed her panties to boys for sixpence.
How are you, Micheal? She asked, as she sat
With legs crossed in the kitchen between sips
Of milky sweet tea. I’m fine, he replied,
Studying her legs, trying to pursue
With his greedy eyes, the length of her thighs.
How old are you now? Her soft voice inquired.
Fourteen, he replied. He lifted his sight
To her weighty breasts, picturing his head
Wedged tightly between. Don’t sit their gawping,
Go get to your play, his plump mother said.
He took a last look, trying to capture
Mrs O’ Hara with her legs and breasts
And what lay beneath, for his nightly dreams
In his sweaty bed, be they wet or dry,
And gave her a smile and wink of his eye.

[theirishsea]

Damn good poem. A great portrait of the adolescent male mind. I've norticed your poetry uses an economy of words. Very few (if any) missteps and wheezing between words. This poem is publishable.

I'm enjoying the poems at this forum.

[dadio]

Thank you. Comments like this make the process of writing worth while.