Pinup

Pinup

The murkiness of the local garage
is not so dense that you cannot make out
the calendar of pinup drawings on the wall
above a bench of tools.
Your ears are ringing with the sound of
the mechanic hammering on your exhaust pipe,
and as you look closer you notice
that this month's is not the one
pushing the lawn mower, wearing
a straw hat and very short blue shorts,
her shirt tied in a knot
just below her breasts.
Nor is it the one in the admiral's cap,
bending forward, resting her hands
on a wharf piling, glancing over
the tiny anchors on her shoulders.
No, this is March,
the month of great winds,
so appropriately it is the one
walking her dog along a city sidewalk
on a very blustery day.
One hand is busy keeping her hat down
on her head and the other is grasping
the little dog's leash, so of course
there is no hand left to push down
her dress which is billowing
up around her waist
exposing her long stockinged legs
and yes the secret apparatus
of her garter belt. Needless to say,
in the confusion of wind and excited dog
the leash has wrapped itself
around her ankles several times
giving her a rather bridled
and helpless appearance
which is added to
by the impossibly high heels
she is teetering on.
You would like to come to her rescue,
gather up the little dog in your arms,
untangle the leash, lead her to safety,
and receive her bottomless gratitude,
but the mechanic is calling you
over to look at something under your car.
It seems that he has run into a problem
and the job is going to cost more
than he had said and take
much longer than he had thought.
Well, it can't be helped,
you hear yourself say
as you return to your place
by the workbench, knowing that
as soon as the hammering resumes
you will slowly lift the bottom
of the calendar just enough
to reveal a glimpse of what
the future holds in store: ah,
the red polka dot umbrella of April
and her upturned palm extended coyly
into the rain.

Billy Collins

posted over on Poemhunter