Published: Verve Magazine, May 2013, Humour
As women hide their exhausted silhouettes in sombre black, the girl with Juicy will stand out like a star fruit in Burma. You know you just want to be that girl…
Oh ye of the softest terry material,
Spun woven for maximum pleasure,
Snapping at the ankles to ensure that you don’t flap,
Drawn ribbon-like curving gently around the waist bulge,
Holding on tight, you remain open to being open:
For a quick visit to the restroom or for a mile high sojourn.
You arrive in popping electric colours,
For if that isn’t enough to draw my eyes to you,
Then the shiny letters that spell your Juicy name –
Poised perfectly on the owner’s luscious bum…just do it.
When you appear at the airport terminal,
I see a flash of your brightness and then suddenly you are gone,
I look around quickly, hoping to catch sight of more…
But you choose to ignore me, tease me, tantalise me.
So enamoured am I by your flashy presence,
So envious am I with the wearer of your mystique,
I fall prey to your flighty aura,
I search for more of you, drawn like a moth to a flame,
And like a moth that perishes,
I very nearly miss my flight.
I see you slide smoothly into first class and my surreptitious glance,
Leads me to the Juicy derriere lounging peacefully on a plush seat,
The wearer’s eyes masked by a hot pink furry shade
Keeping all ills at bay.
Misery’s claws creep into my lime-green soul,
As my plebian cotton and I trudge back to our seat.
Juicy: your soft touch, furry and alive, warm and sensual,
Burn a fire within me that nothing save a glass of the fiercest poison can quench.
My word, the very moment this winged vehicle lands, I shall have you.
You shall be mine; and next time, I will be The Girl With Juicy.