1987, Washington, D.C.

Sixteen years old and wandering,
the red light district is full of hustlers,
the sex shops alive with nervous men
looking to cum,
while cop cars line the curbs,
their occupants taking notes and pictures.

Hookers say, “Hello!”, trying to engage
the men passing by, using quaint, feminine ways.
like flashing their tits.

One of them is fascinated with my mohawk,
and asks if she can touch it.
I freeze, cold to the offer,
repulsed by the sight of her messy,
handled hair, her eyes half closed,
and hazy, her skirt hiked up to reveal
her skinny thighs, and brightly colored
pink panties, hiding her wet,
used cunt.

Through her smoke cracked voice
I hear something child-like, and lost,
innocence coming from all of that mess.
I see she is young but weathered.
I hear her question.
Torn and unstable,
I turn my eyes away.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: