The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

Volume-1                                          June-2011                                                        Number-1

 

††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† Hookers on Archer Avenue

By Michael Lee Johnson

 

Late evening, early morning,

I search the night for whores,

young, bloody with desire.

Night streets are silent streets

except for hookers and their Johns.

One wants the dart of groins

the other green eyes in dollar

sacred treasures-

snatch the wallet, a consecrated craft.

Both hit the streets quickly

satisfy needs quickly.

 

Iím an old buck now rich with memories

more than movement, still talk, take porn shots,

with a peeking eye, snoop around

department store corners,

and dumpy old alleyways.

My hair is gray, my teeth eroding,

thoughts toward prayer

A.M. Catholic Mass,

then off in early morning

to the mailbox, a lethargic walk,

I pick up my social security check-

comforts my needs.

 

Evening settles into bed time

with a western romance novel,

ambushes, excitement,

old transgressions stretch

and relax.

 

No desires, homage

to the day, to the night.