Streetwalker Reality
She tries to remain rigid,
even as her mouth continues to move
like patches of asphalt softening
through the pounding of life’s traffic.
She tries to bewitch her tricks,
as ancient strong hips
move like palm trees in cyclonic after-storm,
battered,
in want of rest.
Nightly lust reigns
as she vies to just be.
Her heart stops,
storms of her childhood,
children of her born,
all betray the face
once with imaginings,
now of only forced smiles,
routines that die the death
over
and over.
Dreams of forever
trying to live out the past,
avoid the present,
visualize a future,
all…
still trying to remain inflexible,
bracing for tomorrow’s
streetwalker reality.
There are some experiences of this writer that have and always will remain vicarious. We sometimes choose to explore what we know little or nothing about, wishing to understand a perceived picture of “good times” that might be nothing but a delusion fixed atop the sadness. Such is perhaps a conundrum of ponderous study for many of us. (Image by Reddit)
So you have courageously tiptoed around the real in order not to encourage the stereotype.
Ron