she sits on a bar stool,
her legs encased in
tight gray slacks, a
wrinkled cigarette
dangling from her
full red lips

standing on her too-high
high heels, she makes sure
every eye is on her

someone makes a lewd remark

she laughs, heads out
the door, walks a few
blocks to her squalid
room where she joins her
"old man" on a shabby bed

gazing up at the ceiling,
she wonders if her baby,
only a few feet away,
will sleep through the night

her "old man" - drunk, mumbling -
reaches over to touch her

she turns away, squinting at
the faded wallpaper

suddenly the el rumbles by,
the windows shake and
her baby cries out

shuffling to the crib,
she lifts him up, holds him
close, their heartbeats caught
in some primal sync

"it's time," she whispers,
cradling him, kissing him,
stifling her tears

"it's time to feed
my hungry prince"