the girls at the green hotel

are more beautiful than

movie stars

and they lounge on the

lawn

sunbathing

and one sits in a short

dress and high

heels, legs crossed

exposing miraculous

thighs.

she has a bandana

on her head

and smokes a

long cigarette.

traffic slows

almost stops.

the girls ignore

the traffic.

they are half

asleep in the afternoon

they are whores

they are whores without

souls

and they are magic

because they lie

about nothing.

I get in my car

wait for traffic to

clear,

drive across the street

to the green hotel

to my favorite:

she is

sun-bathing on the

lawn nearest the

curb.

"hello," I say.

she turns eyes like

imitation diamonds

up at me.

her face has no

expression.

I drop my latest

book of poems

out the car window,

it falls

by her side.

I shift into

low,

drive off.

there'll be some

laughs

tonight.