JENNY JOHNSON

FOLSOM STREET FAIRYTALE

Once upon a time her cheeks were Popsicle red and the leather a licorice

    twist.

Once upon a time she swung you like a cub by your scruff.

Once upon a time clamped nipples like twin satellites.

Once upon a time whatever she strapped on turned into a swan.

Bent over in studded chaps, she could be anyone:

The next door neighbor, a hockey mom, a public defender,

the bank teller with those long lashes.