At the Boutique

ingenious she was,
those hot summer days, when
she'd slip away from home,
her kids at summer school, to
call on my cell, and as an
electrician I know sparks,
and magnetism, and noon
arrived, wiring down, power out,
she'd whisper.

"Meet me at Tina B's,"
her favorite spot for skimpy cotton
dresses, and there
she'd wait, dressing room locked,
till I walked in,
pretending

to be the confused male,
wearing jeans, my
hands still grimy from work,
wandering, admiring couture, then
ducking into the small room,
seeing her body nude,
her breath warm,
a slight blush on her chest,
those nipples hard,
as she sat in my lap,
while I smiled,
and leaned back,
eyes closed.

"What a woman."