She wears the Bright Red Dress, dances on marble table-tops
Has that perfect laugh — Head tilted back
You know the kind.
Yes, she’s That Kind
The kind they like to put in slow-motion
On the movie-screens
The kind who gives the teens
And makes men stiffen in their theater seats
As they squirm over to one side
So the wife won’t see
The hard evidence of their fantasies.
Yes, she’s That Kind –
Her smile blinds,
Those wide big eyes
While what they think is underneath – unbridled sensuality
Simmers through transparently
Because it ain’t necessarily
Her own sensuality
But I won’t bore you with
They all imagine she’s Untouchable
While fiending oh-so-desperately —
To touch her ever-endlessly…
Projecting every wanted woman they have ever seen
Unconsciously on that Bright Red Dress
She happens to be wearing.
Betting to themselves deep down, “I know her and she knows me.
And if I could only win her over, she’d see we’re meant to be.”
Oh, how they think Know her!
And there is some magic quality.
I’m not sayin’ she don’t have it —
It just ain’t the Realest thing.
‘Cause they all think she’s the Virgin Mary
And Madonna —
Goddesses Sophia and Innana —
Some twisted kind of Freudian mama
That they secretly beg to Keep.
Sweet souls just projecting onto her
Their hopeful, true-love dreams.
Nothin’ wrong with this except
When the woman removes the dress
She hopes the men who said
She was the greatest thing since whole-grain bread
Will be able to, instead,
Love the regular, plain ol’ “me.”
You know — the very real wife beside them
In the theater seat.