Mincing on slippered feet,
Decked out in sad mandarin-pale faces,
A pride of women flock to The Broad Motel
To sing a song of sixpence.
Tripping on bound feet,
Quilted into identical wrappers, they
Take turn and turnabout through the bedroom turnstyle
With State Senators, with expenses.
Mouths, bellies, feet
Clutch in spasm, let go, get up, go;
Some pocket money, all drink: this is the Social
Hour; the Chair presents
His platform:- each to sing her favorite
Ditty before he’ll let her leave: Careless
Love, Only the Lonely, A Small
Hotel. … “Next week, O.K.? Sure, tax exempt!”
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