| OCR Text |
Show 33, Jeffries, Islamorada Diamond sat outside the laundromat making herself at ease under his greatcoat in the metal-flake brown Corvette. Fortunately there was an excellent FM stereo entertainment complex to amuse her. Inside, he pondered the washing labels on her fine clothes: the camisole in warm water only, the paisley belt in cold water. . . Her red hood bobbing out in the low hills of Bath. Haut ecole. Riding habits, or, casually, the doeskin baby leathers of their jeans. The blooded girls, smartly dressed. "You!" they'd yell, turning to come full tilt at him. Equestriennes as fractious tomboys, he noted, on the scrap of a tack bill blowing in the breeze of a hunting morning. The clever and stylish transvestism of the horsewomen. Racy Diamond, he continued, the dragster, the darling pederast, a charming Shakesperian girl o_f_ a. boy. . . Later Row got him published. Although she said the piece was stricken by being such a 'wasp' poem. But it paid five dollars and copies in The Western Reserve Magazine: Four Horsewomen Girls rode in spring From one of the fine, small Barns in Hudson My startling view of them A negative apocalypse: Peace, abundance, health, Maternity |
