After Seven,
She stands at her stall,
Glass Case.
Scarlet strobe.
******** clad, she practices
The oldest profession,
Scant consolation.
A Smile, A Tap, A wink.
“Come in, I’ll show you
A Good Time.”
After dawn,
No leading lights,
Lying alone,
She watches television.
No good news in Libya.
An assortement of literature on
Her coffee table;
Cooking manuals, How-To guides,
No Austen, No Wolfe, No Bronte,
Just an illusion.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 7:05 AM UTC