the whores on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.
there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, lusty—
used to describe them.
and too many names—
slut skank harlot whore hussy—
used to deride them.
you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.
someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.
the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.
the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.
the best ones fuck quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.