First Impressions

I attended a poetry gathering

at a very swank hotel,

determined to make an impression,

I was doing rather well.

I had purchased all new clothing

and had my hair attended to,

and did other things

which I knew that I must do.

My ducks were in a row,

I had prepared and planned carefully.

And I knew that I was ready for

the pleasures ahead of me.

I showered, flossed and brushed,

and dressed with utmost care.

And I headed for the lobby

to join the poets gathered there.

I got on the elevator

stepping quickly to the rear,

to make room for other poets

who were certain to appear.

We descended to the lobby

as we chatted amiably.

I stepped off the elevator,

and in a line, straight as a bee,

proceeded toward the lobby

with determination, grace and ease.

From behind I heard a voice say,

"Miss! Excuse me please."

So, I turned to face the speaker,

politely listened to what she had to say,

which put the lobby at my back

to witness this display.

With lowered voice, discreetly,

she whispered in my ear;

"Miss, I'm sorry, your skirt

is tucked up in the rear."