Story B[r]oad Broadsheet In Broad Daylight - From Boardroom To Bed And Board Room And Vice Versa Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

By cell phone, near a neon light,
or corner sex club’s sleazy door,
gad the sad glow-worms of the night.
Do not ask them why or wherefore
forlorn, they set their sorry sight
with weary chatter, wary spite.

Scene heavy - pregnant truth, - paints white
and black, all shades between, pain raw,
stripping pretentions urbanite -
streets paved with gold, - the storyboard
is ugly, dialogue sounds trite -
B movie Hollywood might write.

On call for all, in somewhat light
apparel to attract the more
each paints faint mirage of delight
ephemeral which most deplore.
In house or out, some story write
which makes dark reading few recite.

As stalagmite meets stalactite
Barbie Alice drips - none saw
at least none heeded present plight.
Plastic mini-skirted whore
more victim than a parasite,
self-tied, both tight yet seldom tight.

Here no Prince Charming, pristine knight
awaits his Alice - here the law
turns [gl]amour to informer for
its aims the public would ignore
who glitter worship when its bright,
then bow to pressure to indict.

When dawn shines harshly, brazen, bright
around the trash convenience store
prepackaged parcels can't invite
to Never land where dreams would soar
when faerie dust is sprinkled, kite
is flown, cash blown, eyes sad, contrite.

Unenvied, mo[u]rning, twilight,
lit cigarettes, hearts, ankles sore,
strutting the street to left and right.
Do not ask them who they care for,
with rights in pawn through diverse plight,
wasted, worn, self-tortured quite.

Nail-polish, piercings, Aphrodite
scorns not where some within the law
from ivory to anthracite
flirt, wed, 'respect' win – rotten core
repackaged is [b]lush socialite
is scarlet lace suburbanite.

Exploited, often blameless blight,
b[l]eached far from the social shore.
unless you preach or [b]reach insight,
do not ask them what they’re there for -
as mens’ manipulations might
be highlighted: bed, board and bite!

A blackout falls in 'broad' daylight,
should motivations some abhor
meet explanations which outright
show where blame lies, lines more should draw.
Condemn mens' carnal appetite
they pray forgiven by church rite!

Here find no judgement, wrong or right,
here mind no moral, - nothing’s sure.
Those that suffer, with hindsight,
Chance may grant one day amour.
The profiteers who p[l]ay polite,
perhaps may soon their bullets bite.

‘Tis men who would themselves excite
perverting innocence to store
for gain, for power to incite
or compensate libido poor,
who blackmail, tight rein run through fright, -
yet no-one here is lily white...

From femme and dyke to catamite
from trophy wives snob erudite
from hypocrites who sins adore,
to pimps who profit from the poor,
Life, bubble gum, will expedite
the lot where they belong. No more!