Working Girls

Though the harlots hanker for some means
To shed their ill repute, they still hear catcalls
And see sneers when they are working Second
Street. The biddies call them fallen women.
Matrons turn their eyes away, and matrons'
Husbands circumspectly speak of stocks
And bonds and baseball, waiting for the streets
To empty, and the chance to circle back
And pay to prove that, in the darkness,
In the alleys, on the beds in filthy rooms,
These harlots, at the proper times, are held
In high repute.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 30 times
Written on 2020-05-08 at 02:35

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