You may think I look blowsy and fat,
perched here naked with that red
ribbon dangling down my cleavage.
Not quite naked, matter of fact,
as I’m wearing those wicked
high black boots and a sparkling
butterfly clip in my storm-tossed hair
(that’s what one guy called my ‘do).
Sure, I billow over that ridiculous chair
the artist sat me on and my flesh waves
and ripples in enticing hills.
But, honey, my breasts are soft pillows
where grown men nestle their heads
and sigh and my hands have cute little dimples
they like to lick. I could go on…
Men want a bit of comfort, you know,
and that skinny arm candy with their lettuce leaf
diets don’t offer much cuddling
with those bony frames. Nope, I’ll keep
my billows and pillows, deck them out
with wild colors, big sizes, and swallow
every bite of everything tasty
that comes my way.
About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.