Poetry by Jeff Green


Midwinter Heatwave

by cricketjeff on November 6, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

When Rosie Midwinter gets keen on a man
She doesn’t play footsie or flirt with a fan.
You won’t see her moping, or drowning in sighs,
She marches straight over and stares in his eyes.

The words that she whispers aren’t soppy and sweet,
She won’t twist her fingers or shuffle her feet.
Her voice may be quiet, but firm and direct;
She lets a man know what he needs to expect.

For Rosie Midwinter won’t ever waste time,
She thinks all that nonsense a terrible crime,
As soon as she’s spoken their lips are engaged,
And they won’t be parted until she’s assuaged.

She’ll ask for a drink, or she’ll get one for him,
And something to eat if she’s hit by that whim,
They’ll sit down to drink, and she’ll start to explore
The depths of his dreams and the treats still in store.

The air soon gets heated, intentions are clear,
His last inhibitions will soon disappear.
Before clumsy fumblings start showing her wares,
Young Rosie Midwinter takes her man upstairs …