The Adulterer II

                              Golden pearls

                 Beneath long, silky raven hair.

                      Tanned, Barbie Doll body,

           Enough to make any man stop and stare.

   Soft, supple breasts bulging, swelling outward—jutting,

                                        If you will,

        My she-devil wears Prada tonight—the epitome of

Lusciousness in a fiery red dress, one that totally fits the bill.

 Seeking masochistic sex and swank-ness, she walks with

                             A vain and pompous strut,

 Across the marble floor of the St. Regis Hotel in New York,

  New York. She makes no attempt to dispel the belief that,

                      She’s a sexually promiscuous sl*t.

           She enters the dark, lavish, wood warmth,

          Of the St Regis’ King Cole Bar and Lounge,

Beneath glowing chestnut lighting she slides onto a bar

Stool and decides: there’s no need to fear or to scrounge.

         Her hazel eyes roam lazily, over the usual ritzy

Clientele—Celebrities, the New York business elite and,

                        Many a lack-luster fools.

  Fools she will inevitably search out, as she bides her

So very precious time, watching cantankerous old men

 With pretty young working girls; she eyes one old man

                          In particular that drools.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” breaks the silence, of the stranger

                  Who sits a few bar stools apart,

The raven-haired beauty gazes upward then says,

        “I’ll take the spicy ‘Red Snapper’ to start.”

 Her brush with seclusion and quiet, she no longer has to

                                        Endure

     Because, the stranger is a Madison Avenue adman,

          Who can afford her next drink that’s for sure.

            Chardonnay, Bloody Mary…or another?”

             To her the bartender eagerly queries.

 “Whatever she desires,” says the adman, as she leans

Her sumptuous body into his.  She then presses

Against his rock-solid  hardness, dispelling any

                 Possible doubts or worries.

                                                      .      

She reflects on our long ago marriage vow, when

Reentering the lobby of the Regis Hotel, but replaces

Such thoughts with thoughts of the adman who has

                   Literally caught her eye.

 It is In his hotel room that she finds herself, all giddy and

Hungry for sex, while in the stranger's arms she ponders

The question should she bade her poor husband goodbye?

  I removed myself from the darkness—from within the

 Stately St. Regis Hotel, where white-glove service and

  Engaging conversation will always inevitably abound.

 Your headlong flight toward reckless indifference, never

Once allowed you to seek,  my presence among the visibly

Weak, and those who are lost and have yet to be found.

 To the uncertainty of impetuous winds, our future you have

    Unjustly cast thus, disdain and rage shroud my image,

While on a bottle of Chardonnay the bartender pops the cork.

     Beneath the famed Maxfield Parish‘s Mural, it is here

I will drown my sorrows because: tonight the adman will taste

Of my wife, along with a taste of the magical, Old New York.

Copyright 2008 by Wanda S. Miller-Berry. All rights reserved.