Opal rolled over in the bright sun of a near-stranger’s bed.

She heard a voice in her head say, Certain, Dearie,

Fresh men are countries undiscovered.

How true, Opal said, I stand on a hill in Darien,

She thought this because she was happy then,

Her latest date had come off commendably

And she was again upholstered in the nap of infatuation.

Dare we mention the lad’s most promising blondness?

And though, let’s confess, he couldn’t even pretend tall,

What he was, was…well, he was just so

Scrubbed

Any man in the street could see right through him. Why,

In strong light

He might be transparent.

Oh, sure, in different moments she’d feel differently,

And in later moments, older,

How well she knew it,

But why think about all that somber other bother,

When she’d rather roll ‘round happy all day?