Ms. Leo: A Nursery Rhyme

Ms. Leo lived in a brothel,
ruffles on her collars
and the corners of her dollars.
She collected acrylic butterflies -
tiny, cracked wings so still
in shiny cases on the windowsill.
She hummed unwritten tunes
to the lake gliding loons
dreading Autumn’s chilling numb,
as their departure would soon come.

Ms. Leo never wore her do undone,
her curls pushed high in a strangling bun.
She kept net bonnets for cooking dinner
her once thick hair grew quickly thinner.
Minced meat pea and plenty of rye
she sipped chilled wine,
nothing fancy but just fine.

At the strike of 9 then 10 then 2
she applied her cheeks with deep, red rouge
and buckled up her high heeled shoes.
Ears fastened tight with her finest gems
and Vaseline lotion smoothing her limbs,
she walked into the dim lit den
to wait in line for paying men.

She purred and cooed with all her might
to rid them of their appetites -
one then another, but never more than twice -
for Ms. Leo led an honest life,
and certainly she was no man’s wife.