She Hasn’t Seen It All
Three a.m.
The lady at the doughnut shop
felt the night was the reason
her self loathing blossomed.
Serving coffee to creatures.
slackened morals.
Steaming blackness.
She hasn’t seen it all.
The pimps are out tonight.
Glue in their eyes.
They liked the lady behind the counter.
They told her there was a market for the soft type.
Some johns, they like to sink into their trick,
hate the hardness of the under aged.
Getty, Piece and Gale.
You done now?
Back out the door for another round of hazard.
3:01.
In walks Sideways Guy.
Only phantoms can unveil his soul.
Here to watch the pin hole images
of the back of his heart.
Better than t.v. cause
here he can smell.
So he orders a cherry cruler
and slides into a table by the window.
Getty, Piece and Gale.
You done now?
Back out the door for another round of hazard.
Getty was out tonight.
She’s been around the longest.
For Piece, objectification simplified life.
And Gale,
she was the youngest,
the newest,
the freshest,
but her eyes,
her eyes, were ancient.
“Gale, like the wind,”
she told the lady behind the counter.
“I’m a pharmicudical cyclone.”
She’s a pharmicudial cyclone.
One by one they come to rearrange the sugar jars
on the orange vinal tables.
Words of defiance,
strangled affection,
slung over their shoulders
aimed at their pimps.
Then they go back out the door
for another round of hazard.
Getty, Piece and Gale.
You done now?
No? Okay, then it’s
back out the door
for another round of hazard.
