The Harlem Line train was
crowded that evening, and seats
were scarcely to be found.
I made my way through cars,
seeking relief for my tired soles,
finally finding one empty cavity
among the jaws of human cargo.
 
She sat there absorbed by
the passing pages of Cosmopolitan
unaware of the golden rise
of a full moon at her shoulder;
a view out the window which
had lured my attention.
 
It was only after
drawing long that sight
that I took closer notice
of my preoccupied neighbor.
To be honest I had surveyed her
quickly taking a peek
of her well-rounded bosom
before assigning my attention to
what lay outside; afraid of seeming
to leer at the crack of cleavage so
seductively displayed.
 
Taking her in more closely now
I once again was drawn to those
pushed-up breasts and observed that
boldly written just below upon her tight
fitting shirt the words "Hot-Tees"
spread well-proportioned across.
 
But upon the breasts themselves
I could hardly believe, like some
sort of elvish writing lifted by
the heat of my glance, in golden
letters it read:
I. M. Teats,
Plastic Surgeon –
keeping you abreast
is our firm desire.
 
She caught my stare, smiled softly,
briefly then returned her attention
to the lifeless world upon her lap.
 
Without turning to me she spoke:
"I’m an ad," she said quite
nonchalantly, as if declaring
she worked as such
a common thing as
a secretary or
teacher or any
number of mundane,
"traditional" occupations.
"A walking billboard,
a new-wave, high-tech
marketing machine –
the newest thing
in economic opportunity."
 
With that said she closed
and packed away her magazine.
Rising from her seat she slid by me,
the train now lumbering to its next stop.
Reaching for the hand rail to steady
herself against the inevitable
jar of the locomotive’s halt
I couldn’t help but notice
her midriff rise and
the naked flesh which
to my surprise was
provocatively inscribed
with the words
"Space for rent –
apply within"
 
Noticing my obvious
open-mouthed wonder,
she nervously laughed and smiled
"Surrogate mother, don’t you know."
And with that she turned,
walked up the now empty aisle
her shoes flashing in ruby-red
neon with each landed step –
"Dr. Soul’s padding –
feel lighter than air!"
 
I felt myself almost blushing
at my inner thoughts about
those areas that yet lay
unexposed to my eyes,
wondering what slogans
might be there to solicit
a consumer’s patronage.
As she had now disappeared
from my sight I felt almost
saddened to have lost
an opportunity to that
enticing view.
 
I can’t remember ever
before yearning so much
to see an advertisement.
 

01/08/2005

Posted on 01/08/2005
Copyright © 2024 David R Spellman