That is Priceless by Steve Melcher for November 28, 2024

/// All night long, with the damask drapes drawn,

tense Iola sat, stifling a yawn.

She remained fully dressed

in her haute couture best.

He’s not here yet, and now it is Dawn.

There’s Mr. Jones Sneaking next door to the Widow Jones for Saturdays service call. Think his wfe suspects?

((“Off with his clothes again.”))

“All dressed up and no place to go.”

Wow! I’d be there already!

His Lordship is out with his mates-/

An assembly of reprobates/

All “jolly good fellows/

Who carouse in bordellos:/

It’s one of their least charming traits..///

She knows he’ll be drunk when he comes/

From an evening spent in the slums/

She’ll help him to bed/

Where he’ll sleep like the dead:/

To be blunt – he belongs with those bums..///

He was “born with a silver spoon”./

But he may run through all of it soon/

For wealth that’s inherited/

May well be unmerited/

His Lordship will sleep until noon.

His Lordship was born to vex:/.

But her situation’s complex:/

He’s a wastrel at best/

But tonight she feels blessed/

For it at least he does not demand sex…

Waiting by the back window for the delivery guy to secretly bring her “fabulous homemade Turkey” for today’s guests