Street Walker Poem by O.S. Brooks

She reeks of winter
Tall mother
Heels under pale white BrookLyn
Cold confusion
Cars pass
The night falls heavy
like paint on a silk canvas

She lost a son
Somewhere within the department of corrections
He's confined behind barb-wired dreams
where men are like lions
there's worry in her wait
a shake in her hollow ghost walk

For the wind does not hold back
fierce is the bright late lights through the night
and she doesn't want to press charges
the world would not agree
that cops could be so mid-evil
crushing her flower within their palms
leaving her silent to the streets
empty
her soul washed away
when spring came
crashing
through her morning
distant yet alive
this mother of time
who can't wait to see the reason for Adam