A Reader Deconstructs “The Lady or the Tiger”
Sweat beading on his brow from God knows what,
Heart hammering chest, toes curled in biker boats,
Ankles cocked for an about-face, his gut
Downside up: no doubt his cohorts , The Brutes,
Would not be pleased to see him, so unlike
Marlon Brando, in pleather without words
Before this woman glaring at his bike--
A cherry red Vespa, one for the birds.
And now he grins and wipes his fenders clean;
She uncrosses her arms as he extends
A copy of "The Lady" to the queen
With glittering eyes. Will they make amends?
She cocks her stilettos from Paul's Boutique;
He drops his shorts and turns the other cheek.