The sort of countenance called
satanic,
and with reason.
The hands, wandering, are not
satanic,
do not appear to be cloven as they
wander thick
towards the cloven... “Thank you,
madam. Come again...”
The feet may be, but are encased
in black pursuing shoes, not very
stealthy,
rather obvious, in fact.
No tail visible.
A white expanse of self-satisfied
shirt;
true blue, true navy blue, shirt -
but somehow a little soiled
above the cream cakes in bulging
glass display.
The girls make no display, rushed
off their feet, poor things,
harassed their... “Bill, sir? Yes, sir... so glad you liked...”
tips; turning his thigh against
each swinging hip,
smiling just like every furtive
uncle,
hot and thrusting questions in his
eye.
They quiver slightly like unbroken
horses,
teased by some dark trace of fear,
blush;
but hesitate to brush away
the... “Everything all right, my
dear?”...
lewd manager
in another Bath teashop.
(March,
1989)
