THE LIMOUSINE / by Joseph Castorino

 

As she opens the door of the

luxurious limousine,

with quivering, slender,

inexperienced fingers,

she ever so briefly

hesitates.

 

But before logic can stop her,

she rashly swings open the door of

emotion, and dives in before

reason can stop her.

 

The car abruptly speeds off,

and her body falls backwards

onto the long bench seat

which is as bouncy as a mattress;

she looks down and is disturbed

to see that her new white dress is

soiled by oily french fries

that are sprawled everywhere;

alarmed, she jerks her body

spasmodically

and knocks over an unseen

plastic cola cup,

and its black liquid --

its pop and fizz long gone --

splashes onto her lily flesh.

 

The depraved driver leers at her

while whispering lewd words that

slither like a serpent

out of his mouth,

creeping and seeping into

her virgin ears,

maliciously coiling around her

brain, before steadily injecting

their poisonous venom

into her mind.

 

Depressed and disappointed,

she slowly, sluggishly

exits the vehicle,

feeling used,

like a throwaway,

like the limo’s black exhaust.