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.