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yummy yummy ladies on my screen,
more than McLuchan could have foreseen,
smouldering my sensibilities like raw limonene
being rubbed in bare, bewitched eyes
in a Ludovico machine.

i’ve never ridden in the back of a limousine
snorting coke off a celebrity’s caboose.
unlucky me.
but every day if i so choose,
i can watch the car-hobby show they produced
with that chick who specializes in rust repair
who was only seventeen when that episode aired
but now that she’s eighteen, she doesn’t care
if those bikini selfies of hers’ are out there?

did she ever consider when her agent told her to post them
the precious time her and i could now spend in-tandem?
i think if it was properly explained to the country lass
that she’d have horny reprobates touching their phalluses
while gawking her overall-less ass,
she’d have traded that limo out for a beater
and not have been so keen to be seen.

but she’s a baby!
she lacks the wisdom to be so indiscriminate.

any half-pretty legal-aged infant in a small, canyon town
with a smile those goofs from Salò would disown,
where it wasn’t such a big deal to play doctor
with the son of your garage’s proctor
since your life decisions consisted of either going to prison,
having a baby, or learning to disassemble a Nissan,
wish they could be top-down in a targa
taking pictures like green they can use
once the show gets cancelled and she loses views.

guess now she’ll have to get dental braces –
you know, the kind that make any woman ageless –
and some of those porn star-style tattoos,
like bows on the thighs.
those are nice,
for some, sometimes.

//wd 7.22.2023

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