Trashy Crepe Myrtle

Myrtle,

you done got gussied up good

in that scandalous shade

of magenta-

or is it some whore's hue

I can't recognise?

Lord, have mercy!

You are one slut of a tree.

Arching this way 'n' that,

like a cat trying to scratch an itch

she's pretending she can't reach,

limbs naked to the hips

where you ruffle all hot pink

and wink at every lecherous

bumblebee who buzzes by.

My, oh, my!

Myrtle,

can't you see them filthy minded

Pine trees crouching down

with sticky green needles

looking up under your skimpy skirt,

billowing a violet violence

in that obscene breeze,

hoping to catch a sight

of your cootchie?

You even got yourself

some matching purple underdrawers,

to flaunt your you-know-what

like a shameless hussy,

full of flowery moans

and come hither petals

drifting loose

like you don't know no better!

Just 'cause a man's sap rises,

ain't no great compliment to you,

you indecent, deciduous floozy!

Can't you hear them black crows

laughing at the spectacle you're making

of yourself?

You ain't foolin' nobody.

Now behave!