The Blonde

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

' A Peeping Tom', I thought at first.
And as a resident of Hearst,
the castle in the crazy state,
that morning I was running late
for an appointment at 'The Brothers',
meaning the Warners. All those others
competing for that leading role.

The movie was about the Pole,
I was to play Amundson's wife,
they said I looked like her in life.
And as I stood next to the bed,
stark naked, thin and underfed,
a face appeared, a fleeting glimpse,
I think he looked at my nude limbs.

A squeaking sound became intrusive,
it also seemed a bit elusive,
but then I noticed those two guys,
they both had big and probing eyes.
On a contraption held by ropes,
squeegie in hand and full of hopes.
I was relieved, now seeing clearly
that I had scaredy-cat-like, nearly
confused them with imagined Perv's!
I think perhaps my aging nerves
are lately, truly on the edge.

Well, I stepped up now to the ledge
and stretched my muscles like Godiva.
The cleaners seemed to drool saliva.....
I knew that they were eying glass,
although it seemed that my sweet ass
was always where their hands were cleaning....
the older one, at last, was leaning
so close he touched with his big nose,
I'm sure he needed to expose
a certain section for inspection.
They both were cleaning the same section
and spent the best part of an hour
until I headed for my shower.
I do admire their devotion,
and when I rubbed my skin with lotion
I briefly wondered if they'd been
inside to keep the showers clean.

I like my life near the Big Pond
and I'm quite happy to be blond.

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