Street corner sex, pushers of flesh,
tin pan cars, stop and stare.
Long shapely legs and tight fitting jeans,
sawed off skirts, a buyer’s dream.
Cherry lips kiss the night,
make-up eyes wings of flight.
Center stage they act upon,
there one minute, next they’re gone.
Tricks performed, but no rabbits from a hat,
to walk the faceless strangers, back to a flat.
Changes never made at the drop of a dime
lost in cracks the spaces in time.
A young child the victim of prey
this vicious cycle of concrete grey.
Promises made for the hunger of motion
a syringe of faith this magic potion.
I sit and wonder and look within
at what once was and could have been.
I sense their sadness with a tender look,
the closing chapter of a forgotten book.
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