Bodywork

Driving the car

                through the local township-

that bitch of a machine-

she catches a glimpse

                of her beauty starved face

in that dingy rearview-

its moods dictating

                when it might

                                                fall

                                                     down.

A red Alfa Romeo

                flies by,

waif with a Virginia Slim

at the wheel,

“Funny that I smoke Reds,” 

                she thinks.

Bodywork.

All that she needs

                to fix

that bitch of a machine.

The engine runs better

                each day.

Bodywork.

All that she needs

                to fix

that beauty starved face.

Maybe then she wouldn’t

                suck her checks in,

                                tuck her stomach in,

                                                force her breasts out

each time

                she walks through

                                the local grocery

where Al sits

                at the counter, saying

“You sure were beautiful”

                and forces her present state

                                into the past.

Driving the car

                through the local township,

PTA moms

                at the elementary school

covering car pool.

She sees petite frames

                tucking children away,

much like she tucks her stomach.

Then lights her Red,

                romancing the smoke

in that dingy rearview

intrigued

                by the hollows of her face

                                where slight cheekbones

show

                when she inhales.