The crime scene was Cobo Hall
where I attended the annual show;
minding my business, dressed in a suit,
flirtatious NOT at the car expo.
A beautiful orchid centerpiece
oozed pollen o’er table and chair,
while across from me a salesman sat,
an accomplis in the affair.
He distracted me from the temptress
as her rouge lathered my hand.
I tried to wipe it clean
but the mess did only expand.
That night I checked into Motel Six
where I noticed all were staring.
The bathroom mirror did solve the crime
and showed me I was wearing
orchid pollen on cheeks and brow,
orange streaks from the sick cabal,
for today I’d been seduced
by a fetching femme fatale.
Copyright © James Rasmusson | Year Posted 2011
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