You Wear It Well
I did not dress for suburbia—
I knew enough not to wear polka dots
to the moon-washed crossroads
where we would tempt our blues-luck,
the nearly-washed-out crossroads
where a Scorpio full moon listened
to the susurrus of straws we grasped.
The Devil moved his hands slowly
whispered sex in Spanish
and complimented me on
my red, red dress.
