Invisible
The city, sweet seduction
wrapped in a bitter haze,
secretes damp despair over
the huddled girl.
Her vacant eyes stare
from within the crusted parka
as her cracked voice begs change
from the intoxicated swarm.
Pleading, her gaze tracks cellulite queens,
their honey trap thighs
displayed to lure intoxicated eyes.
Scratched glass voices
gather hunters beneath stilettoed heels,
a slavering pack scenting
procreative musk.
Spirit shot eyes, lusting
to play diseased roulette in alleys,
disregard her huddled heap.
Caste invisible by affronted ideals,
her shivering shatters the grace
of their breeding boogie.
Then they see and point;
howling hyenas, hungry
for vulnerable prey.
"Gerra job," shrieks one;
her companions chorusing
taunts and chants as she cowers,
a hare in the heat of the hunt.
She sighs as the pack,
sated by her tears,
moves on and the old man
approaches, note in hand
like an excuse on sports day.
His smile, a weak crescent
like an apologetic moon,
broadens to a gapped grin
as they find a hidden alley.
As a penitent she kneels,
a disciple in a city
of pleasures, her body aroused
by the promise of food.
Darkness hides their act,
a five minute play beneath
indifferent stars.
Unacknowledged, she leaves him,
his fumbling fingers packing
his flaccid embarrassment
back into soiled jeans.
She walks tall, his twenty
sitting in her pocket
like a passport to tomorrow,
her hunger awake
to the promise of satisfaction.
