Lady ain't no Tramp

A stranger walks past me as I sit down

Briefly he squeezes flesh, earning him a frown.

"Excuse me," I say, brushing off your touch.

"I'm not here for a date, I'm here for lunch."

I speak softly, clearly, placing a certain delicacy in my words,

Sweet rounded vowels and a subtle intonation mark them,

My eyebrows rise silently as I look at you in askance,

But you say nothing, your own brows knitted in silence.

I rise to my feet and standing ram-rod straight

I look straight at you, and you hesitate

Before asking me that question on the tip of your tongue,

"Do you think you're really better than anyone?"

"Do you think there's a difference in quality of skirt?

That you're special just because of how you button your shirt?

Why do you act like some kind of princess?"

To which I say, "Because it's better than being your mistress."