In the morning
she would paint herself
into a pair of short-shorts,
and sashay down a long straightaway
that went up and over a set of tracks.
You could tell she was smiling inside,
knowing it was the sight of her tight ass
causing the cars to swerve
and kick up dust off the shoulder.
More than one man fell for her,
and begged her to quit;
but she couldn't master the art of saying no.
So she continued,
until her body,
like a penny rolled over by a train,
flattened out and lost its shine,
and the cars she loved to watch swerve,
started speeding past her,
kicking the dust back in her face.