Princess

Outside in the doorway

She stands morose against the rain,

Lavishly Sucking

On the sixteenth cigarette of the night.

Her ladies in waiting

Cackle mindlessly beside her,

Picked for their fat

And grotesque orange faces.

With practised grace she stamps out her fag,

Slightly her skirt rides up,

Showing off a glimpse

Of her pale, blueish thigh.

A mess of her bleached locks

Brings them back into line,

Checks her face in the compact

For any cracks in the mask.

And with heeled run she goes in,

Back to the bar and her men,

Vodka in hand, Bad opinion on tongue

She searches the room for a stallion to ride.