Hooker
 
Weedy looking,
not far from girlhood,
the lanky hooker
walks home across 
a weedchoked lot
toward the projects.
Still made up from
the night before,
her mouth's a red bow,
her eyelids purple
and glittery 
in the dawnlight.
She's gone off duty 
(at least for now)
& has pulled a pair
of cutoff jeans
over her black
slitskirt & stockings.
A lowcut sweater 
hangs from her
long Parmigianino 
neck, revealing 
plenty of chest
but no cleavage.
I slow the car
to observe her--
she's used to looks,
it's part of the trade,
and out of habit
offers invitation.
I am the first
to look away,
thinking that she 
has misunderstood me--
or that maybe I 
have misunderstood myself . . . .
  

 

 

 

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