Second Coming of a G-string

by Sarah Sarai

Second Coming of a G-string
     for J. Edgar Hoover

Your chubby so–white legs,
marshmallow puffs embalmed,
plump cherries in white chocolate
plead for one more inner–thigh
flesh–press from a call boy
in the Hollywood Hills.

Even the brutal and ugly leave
the bar with a date?
Honey, you remember me,
don’t you, your soiled G–string,
pink as a Commie and aching.

Our secret stalks your casket
lined in lead, rumor is, not that it
matters when flames leap.