Too many sequins on
her gown have fallen--
the softest lights expose too much.
eases himself down, hands flat on the bar,
nametag has a first name but
that doesn't matter; she can't read it.
A prostitute on impulse, no career
or home awaits her now, so
take what comfort you can grab,
trample convention and conventioneers alike,
each one thinking value received means
dollars and not days.
Picking up pieces of silver from the dresser and
another day, another bar, another
night, another town, another gown with
too many sequins.
rev. 7/11, 7/16/2002
©1995, 2002 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated July 16, 2002.