Reflection in a Dimestore Window

It’s not that men are never
ridiculous in the public eye,
but their tailor-made assurance
makes them less vulnerable than
Mistress Overplump downtown
on a summer afternoon,
her bulging behind plainly
showing each hitch and jiggle
through baby-pink stretch pants,
tight as the hair stuffed in
the metal rings around her head.
I glimpse in the dimestore window
her naked face
smouldering in cosmetic fire.