04-16-2013, 05:56 AM
I am a dead thing. Leering punks vie for my attention.
They whisper and make gestures.
Dragging on my cigarette, the smoke swirls in circles,
a distraction as I search among the faces for you.
Traffic is slow, mostly looking, not buying.
Hard times have taken its toll on carnality.
A snapshot stirs my anger, still there
is rent to consider.
Digging in my pocket I find your note.
Liar! Men call all the shots.
Tears well up but remain fixed. I hate you.
Smiling sweetly at the young fellow,
I coax him, stay, don’t go.
The red lights dim, he lowers his head and follows.
“ Do you like Amsterdam?”,
barely audible, he whispers that he does.
I place the euros with your note.
The light reflects off my face and burns my eyes.
I fondle the pay in my pocket.
The night is not a total waste.
They whisper and make gestures.
Dragging on my cigarette, the smoke swirls in circles,
a distraction as I search among the faces for you.
Traffic is slow, mostly looking, not buying.
Hard times have taken its toll on carnality.
A snapshot stirs my anger, still there
is rent to consider.
Digging in my pocket I find your note.
Liar! Men call all the shots.
Tears well up but remain fixed. I hate you.
Smiling sweetly at the young fellow,
I coax him, stay, don’t go.
The red lights dim, he lowers his head and follows.
“ Do you like Amsterdam?”,
barely audible, he whispers that he does.
I place the euros with your note.
The light reflects off my face and burns my eyes.
I fondle the pay in my pocket.
The night is not a total waste.