Her Skirt

Her skirt: bright colour’d, split behind
prim half way to the knee.
As she sashay down the street
before us – Granny and I
legs peek out just enough for us
to catch a glimpse of flesh.

A slight breeze all that stand
between her fabrics and a peek
at her inner thigh, at her unmentionables.
“Is this another kind of tease?”
Granny queries me in low tone
“Or a new dress style that now adores ladies?”

Pres’d with tenacity to ev’ry feminine curve
her State-of-the-art-posterior twitch
and cling to this skirt with rage.
If you stare, it invites speculation
you want what’s under her hem;
if you compliment, an accusation.

Tiny also is her unbutton see-through
attention-seekin’ blouse, it hides little;
it flaunts – a public offering to ev’ry admirer
her huge and amble orbs
threatin’ to burst loose from its confine
but held captive by a wispy bra.

“Don’t bother or flinch Granny,
these are days being fashionable scream –
“If you got it, flaunt it!”
An era of: big booby – no bra
big booty – no panties;
it’s not the ‘70s Mama. She’s trendy!”

Copyright © 2019. Ugo Nkwoala. All rights reserved.

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