She warned me about you Tennessee girls

when plain Jane and Betty Sue from Chattanooga
sat down with me between i was not prepared.
Jane'd said "coffee" but she did not mention that we'd have company.
and likewise, i hadn't counted on minding.
Betty comments on what a good mom you'd make,
and how good a swimmer you are,
and how your hair looks so pretty now that it's shorter, Jane,
but what you don't know is as she says this and you glow
like morning over the thick blue lip of the cafe mug,
that her hand has slid under the table like a snake
and it's fickle tongue fingers are rap-rapping on my leg,
my thigh.
i surpress a noise that'd give her away.
like the weak mortal i am, i succumb to her game:
even as i keep my eyes on you, i can feel hers on me.
and when you open your mouth to speak, ain't it funny how
she feels the need to interject something nice about me
and call my attention to respond, to guide my eyes as i notice
how she's removed her hoodie and that her cotton top is
too threadbare and frail to contain her gently heaving bust.
i hate to admit it but i like how she tells me, this way,
how i matter most.