LaClaire mitchell nzerem
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Song Of The Night Woman
Empty footsteps click across
the wet sidewalk, faceless people pass.
Cabs honk by and splash the feet
where hookers cuss at the curbs of streets.
Empty footsteps come to call
at the creaking doorway down the hall.
In a room that hisses of pungent mold,
the plaster crumbles from mildewed walls.