1972, Butcher's Corner

Painted ladies Platform boots Mini skirts Stockings, garter belts Low slung Vs Bubbling over with mottled mummeries Hanging around Butcher’s Corner On the hook The pray orbit Slowing down, speeding up Slow…gone Around a corner, back again Red car arrives A Tom tentatively Extends his index finger ‘You’ Chubby whore saunters over Too much sass For that much ass She leans in the car window ‘Head?’ ‘Ten quid.’ He scans her lumps, ‘I’ve got five.’ ‘Go on then.’ [We’ll be eating tonight] Opening the door Pushing the passenger seat forward Saying ‘In the back, stay low.’ Ums and ahs; disgruntled, shamed Hard times, little pride Squeezing titanic thighs in-between fake leather Beehive head pressed to the back seat Familiar odors filling her lungs Milk, cough drops Shampoo, crayons Telltale signs of little ones Nostalgia boils Gulping, suppressing tears Shoving guilt from her nut There’s work to be done, no regrets Tires churn pebbles Arrival at Rubber John Alley Her office A life His zipper strains a loaded gun In under five minutes Dirty deed done Not even time to soft boil an egg With blind ego intact she declines a ride back Done for the night, enough flow Over the road Into the park To three little girls identically dressed On swings, dangling legs Ultra-white socks to their knees Giggling