my goodwill gal
greets me with
a spend thrift spin;
twirls a whirl,
and invites me in.
met her there —
by circular rack;
her lush smile says,
“eyes up here, dear”
with zippo lighter laugh.
she deploys
her spend thrift clothes
spinning atop an island
of bell-bottom corduroys;
her price tag shows,
cost of admission paired
with her mint gemstone alloys.
in dressing room
paisley prints and
lightly worn avenues
hang from her helicopter arms;
she has the skill of a woman
that buttons down men
caught by her secret charms.
she’s snags a t-shirt widow,
a co-opted window
to graft on top of me —
I become her man in window,
she pulls over top of me;
our time together crescendos,
“25 cents,” she says,
“is clearance to feel free.”