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.