Chorus Girl
In the night she comes, knocking at the glass,
Poe-ish, in her petrol sheen, midnight negligée,
brazen eye, a voyeur, between the curtains.
Blackbird, aren’t you supposed
to sing at this time of night?
Not these yellow beaked seductions
Morse Code-gavelled to the brain,
while dawn peek-a-boos the edges of the pane.
Restful at last, her eyes a loving murk;
a black shaped bequest spied through glass.
Pussy plaything, curdled, rigid and frail.
Reclined on the doormat, a murderous hangover;
one less chorus girl kicking up her tail.
Jennie Owen is a University Lecturer in Creative Writing, and has been a Senior Editor for the on-line journal Black Market Review since 2008. She is also a member of Skelmersdale Writers’ Group.