They say Texas Sally had the magic touch.
So many women owed her, oh, so very much.
They say she made maids virginal again.
Turned troubled girls contrite, more than they’d ever been,
Turned their lips redder, turned their cheeks pink,
Made their figures shapelier than ever you would think.
Their eyes seemed somehow wider and much more prone to tears.
She turned waifs into women way beyond their years.
She didn’t pry who done it, or what their stories were.
She never talked about it and never cast a slur.
Few menfolk knew her name, not even those who came,
But when she died, the women cried and mourned her all the same.
A pea in the pod. A bun in the oven.
If you’re in the puddin’ club, but ain’t feelin’ lovin’
Look up Texas Sally, and go pay her a call.
The Good Lord will forgive, if maybe not the law.
She stood four feet in heels, couldn’t read or write,
Had not many skills, but worked well in low light.
She had tiny, thin fingers and a tiny, thin arm,
A gentle touch, soothing voice, always soft and warm.
No client ever left her disappointed or betrayed.
No lawmen ever raided, no payoffs needed paid.
She had a thriving business and a steady clientele.
Who’d harass a blind old lady whom so many loved so well?
They say she was an orphan with native tribal roots,
A long-forgotten lady whom today’s woman salutes.
She forged a tiny niche, though she never was renowned.
No wonder that she died the richest gal in town!
A pea in the pod. A bun in the oven.
If you’re in the puddin’ club, but ain’t feelin’ lovin’
Look up Texas Sally, and go pay her a call.
The Good Lord will forgive, if maybe not the law.
J. Alan Hostetter
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 