The Posh Tart

The posh Tart. She, an old fashioned girl, when walking past me dropped her handkerchief, gallantly I picked it up. and hand it to her, it was scented and had enticing aroma of womanhood. Said her price and my face fell into the street where it was dragged along by a cleaning car. She didn´t look that way- short skirt beret and red handbag-. Said she only picked up gentlemen, I was going home from a literary party consisting of pork pie, hot air and warm red wine. I walked into a bar, had a double whisky thought about what she had said… calling me a gentleman. From the inside of the bar I saw her drop her silk hankie again, like bait, this time she caught a fish and off they went to make posh love, I marveled over my everlasting naivety and wondered if she called him a gentleman too.