James M. Cain's Saga of the Leaking Tap

She held the door for me.
Her other hand
brushed sleepy blonde dark-rooted hair
from the sun-parched skin of her brow.

Her breasts
rose like elevators
under a white silk blouse.
Otis has done himself proud,

I thought to myself.
She might have had young girl dreams
of her sexiness claiming rank
as she waddled her way to success,
but now that was in her rear view mirror.
Late thirties I would have said.
Married, two kids
with boredom on the way.

But I could tell
she still had it in her
to take a guy some place
that he believed
was as high as it gets.
At least, she caught
my ogle of a look
and was okay with it.

"Come this way," she said,
in a deep husky voice.
She switched her hip flesh
from one side to the other
and back again
as I followed her into the bathroom

My bag of plumbing tools
thumped against my thigh.
They'd read the book too,
apparently.