samantha ledger

working girl

Undone
the humdrum whore;
for a penny
and there are prettier ones
that smile for less.

But I have standards,
don’t you know.

Mother taught me to wash
behind my ears,
so I guess that entitles me
to the upper class drunks;

with their avid humping
and childish giggles
as they -

come;

wondering towards
orange street lamps
where we all hang;
some scabby corner
littered with empties and fag butts.

Us kids.

Fifteen, sixteen going on
forty.
Too much life held back
in watery eyes,

coughing up our guts
and last customers.
I would say sucker
but the irony stings;

much like the reminders
of you
and him and them and others.

Are you ugly?

I know my baby doll dress
arrests your aging heart.
There are, at any given time,
⇒
at least two of you,
or three.
Blurred vision is such a
blessing,

when undressing old farts;
stifling a laugh at
colossal egos.
I forego foreplay.
Why prolong
what they came for?

One quick kiss on the forehead
and a rushed goodbye,
wife and kids to feed,
to see and tuck into bed.

So long, farewell,
have a nice life
in your 2.4 ideal.
I’ll be a good girl.
See you next week
Wave meekly as we part
and mumble

"So long Daddy."