The Bomber and the Bombshell
She broke down
Like a Ford in a storm
Anything to garner a reaction
Who could resist that pretty little red dress,
Soaked, and covered in oil?
Not anyone I knew,
And I knew myself well.
I slowed to a lame dog's pace
to get a better look
As she pulled a rusty iron
From a burlap bag in the boot.
She very well coulda been
Holding a Bible
She looked so sorry.
I changed in a phone booth
Quick like the wind to her back
And flew in on my red n' blues.
A bomber makes a fine umbrella
For a roadside Stella.
And, by starlight she watched
An artist in his element.
She did her best to shield me
With our leather lean-to
As my hands made
Their way under the skirt
Of the broke lady;
Handled with a delicate firmness
Only experience can bestow.
I knew what I was doing.
Graciousness was God's gift
To her it seemed,
As she lit a cigarette to
Spite the rain
And pressed it to my lips;
my hands were spoken for.
A look and a smile
Was all I could muster as
The deluge made quiet
The victorious purr
The old beast let out in relief.
"Thanks" with a kiss to my cheek
Was the moment I knew.
She scurried off to slam the door
Before I realized she was gone.
I was gonna miss that jacket.
Copyright © Andy Ellsworth | Year Posted 2013
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