Prostitution ( a poem)
48
Prostitution
Faraway Ferris wheel
A little girl’s horizon
His voice pooling at the base of her head
Blood then violence
Chunks and chunks of vitriol
Waiting for the day
Suspended in silence
Stolen mounds of faith.
A bed rid of the past
Stuck darts in my heart
Painted, painted
Bitter hatred;
The face of my great aunt.
She whispered to herself.
A cat’s eye peeps from under the stone
Thick in a garden full of gnomes
Wary and wistful the little girl weeps
Trapped inside a maze of meat.
She felt like a carcass
A dead weight;
Buried.
She’ll not believe a word that you say,
It’s her price
It’s her staple.
The sharpened nail
Long and shiny
Stuck fast to the wall.
Hurry now, go catch her call.
