By Terry Collett
She could tango ok,
But man did she have
A tongue on her; she
Could have drained
The Black Sea with her
Endless talk, could have
Driven men over the hill
And into the river out of
Sheer desperation to get
Away from her constant
Chatter. Henry sips his
Drink and watches her
Tango. Her hips are far
Beyond anything he’s
Seen in a while; the way
She moves moves him,
Sets him on fire with
Desire. He leans back
In the chair; smokes a
Cigar; watches her through
The smoke, the haze. Man
Can she move; her legs
Are to die for; her thighs
Are to dream of lying
Between; her arms for
Embracing and when she
Finishes the dance and
Comes over to his table,
He’ll make small talk
Just to have her close
A little longer, studying
Her eyes as Columbus
Did on his first sight of
Land and beneath the table,
He will dream and wish to
Take hold of her ring
Encrusted small, but
Oh, God blessed hand.
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I had a lovely Monday with Cheryl and the kitties! After playing with kittens, we went to California Tortilla for lunch, then went to the holiday boutique at Washington Hebrew, where we saw my mom plus various friends, looked at lots of jewelry, and gifts and Cheryl bought a wall hanging. Then we came back to my house, brought the kittens downstairs to the cage, and watched Soapdish and Tropic Thunder (look, it was an RDJ mock-the-industry day) and played with the kittens some more!
My two usual Monday night shows pre-empted their planned episodes in sympathy with the victims of the Paris attacks; Supergirl ran its Thanksgiving episode early, postponing a story with a bombing, while Legends reran the season premiere, postponing a story with mass murder in Paris. So we watched Minority Report, which I will miss so much when it's gone in two weeks, and Blindspot, which I am enjoying though it needs more women interacting. Fall color from last year on Skyline Drive:
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