Little Noose, Little Loop

Little noose, little loop
of cloth cut and the button's
free, fake pearl gleaming
between his teeth. I've learned
you never know: even my plain dress
can set him thinking, and pleats
are worse--the iron's edge thrills
and makes him jealous.
He says deep pockets imply
occupation: his hands
now a schoolboy's complaining
how cold. Strange
the way he likes my shoes,
begs to touch heels and laces,
my mosquito-bitten ankles.
Who knew he'd call my name
this way, whisper
I was the slip-and-fall
rabbit hole waiting to happen?

Mary Ann Samyn, "Femme Fatale Alice," from Captivity Narrative, 1999