Under street lamps there is a...

Woman standing.
Lips glossed, spandex painted to skin, powder
Smoothed over forehead to chin.
She is waiting.
Stiletto pumped dreams pace pavements,
Pause in parking lots.
Penises push past those pink stained lips, skirts
Nightly slip below her hips.

And all she ever does is swallow.
She swallows her pride as they push past her thighs,
Sticky, sticky cum, tears in her eyes.
Pickney has to eat, so she eats dick.
Cigarette smoke thick, beard grazed cheeks, street corners, slick-
Like an alley cat, she slinks in and out of cars and corners.
Sex sells little girl.
Money will always speak.
She is waiting...

Under street lamps
She stands, fishnet legs strut back and forth,
Weighing the only options she has.
The streets are her runway and she wishes she could run away.
There is no glitz or glamor in this life.
No gold or glitter.
She'd just keep on walking.
Keep on waiting.

One more chipped tooth won't hurt.
What is pain anymore,anyway?
She isn't stealing, just giving what is hers-
At a price,right?
Giving and giving,what's left now but imitation Gucci and store bought
Hair and pressed on nails and glued on lashes and...nothing?
Let them spit their names of whore and hoochie,she wears labels with
Dignity,refuses your pity because there is no regret.
Body sold to the highest bidder,
This is survival of the fittest at its finest.
This Mary Magdalene, this walking sin,
This woman men want to live in but refuse to love.
This object of sexual gratification.
She is.

Hitch that dress up just a little bit higher now.
Under street lamps is where you'd find her-

Waiting.