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.