Wet Paint by Anita McQueen

I posed for a painter.
He couldn't pay me but a couple of crumbs.

He said my face was sweet and my eyes sinister.

His company was settling for a time
when I wanted to scream.

I deserted him.
He sold the painting of me and moved on.

I find myself
often
in a stance he should have painted
for the two of us.




Published in The Literary Burlesque- 1/4/11

Charger by Anita McQueen

Running
against the wind
purposely
aiming myself
to the bull's-eye
showing
every muscle
stretch of skin
oiled with sweat
unafraid
of horns and hoofs
and grunt of the pawing beast.



Published in The Camel Saloon- 1/4/11