Observed, at a City Park
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Observed, at a City Park
The young prostitute, painted
and perfumed, a torn black dress
she drops the sultry come-on look
and pauses a few moments in deep shade,
rose petals and thorns,
tall yellow flowers bending with bees.
Cicadas are rattling, singing like snakes—
long dry tones of lust and sorrow
in the hot late-summer trees.
A brooding thunderstorm, blue
as a fresh bruise, stands sombering
over the darkening mountains.
A chilling wind blows down through town,
shaking the heavy leaves.
Torn black dress, wobbly heels
and cheap earbuds, she hurries on
down the winding, care-less street
clutching her purse, chewing gum,
trying to make a smile.
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–Quilla
Ruach 333, by Quilla 