There was this prostitute who worked
off of Harbor boulevard,
She was missing the foot from one leg,
I imagined this made her work difficult,
But she seemed confident,
Grating, tar soaked voice
Street con abruptness,
"You wanna party" she kept asking,
as she struggled along side,
on noisy crutches,
I gave her a five spot to make her go away,
not a sympathy five,
it was a bribe,
a blackmail,
She rolled me and I ate it with a smile,
What skill,
What grace,
And wit,
She cheated a five with sickness,
I'd give you a piece of my soul,
for ten.
No comments:
Post a Comment