Fishing From A Barstool

FISHING FROM A BAR STOOL 
  
Perched on a bar stool 
Statuesque and proud 
Her long legs a flashing 
Posing for the crowd 
Looking for some interest 
Some attention going her way 
She wanted just another drink 
But someone else to pay 
Her makeup carefully painted 
Rouge upon her cheek 
Her dress cut down the side 
To provide a little peek 
The bait was set  
The hook prepared 
It was time to wait 
She knew if she waited long enough 
They’d  come knocking at her gate 
But time past and no one came 
No one I could see 
But to my surprise her luck was good 
The fish she caught was me.