By Dave Hood
She’s single, a Scorpio, forty-five,
A beautiful, bodacious, big busted,
botoxed, bombshell as cultivated
as the Duchess of York.
She’s a former trophy wife,
who enjoys the finer things in life.
She’s often seen dolled up, like a teenager,
In tight jeans, high heels, black blouse,
a necklace of white pearls at the single’s bar
on Saturday night’s.Most of the guys
refer to her as “cougar”.
She lives alone in a house,
as big as a palatial estate,
spotless as white sheets,
decorated like a photo
in Interior Decorating magazine.
She parades around
in spiffy Mercedes Benz,
believes that men ought to
treat her like royalty.
She has an ex, whose a former CEO.
He drinks too much, lives somewhere across
the city, nobody knows where,
still provides support, pays the bills
for her shopping sprees, says she’s
as cold as ice.
Most Friday nights, she sits alone
in her home, drinking several glasses of wine,
cruising the online dating sites,
into the dead of night. She wonders why
she can’t find a date with a nice guy.