Betsy Robin Schwartz

this fruit has golden dreadlocks

tastes real good lush luscious

women of a certain age

cream colored, coffee, or express oh

she’s got the juice lights

see it in those ripe round hips

her shaking hips

snaking their way

across the dance floor

to that young man’s smile

damn, he thinks

did I go to heaven or what

goofed up grin crossing his face

none of the baby girls are so free

with their body booty

none of them know what they got

so if you can’t see jangling rhythm

happening in her lustrous sway

baby boy, little man thing

just keep walking on by