A Brief Encounter Poem by Charlotte Ballard

A pause in the middle of the madness
Of books spread open with white pages
Like the white thighs of prostitutes
Laid back by the promise of fingers
Carefully placed with no
Corners bent or spine pressed
Too hard between sweating palms
Flicking past, holding down what
Isn't theirs, only - that's wrong -
It does belong to them for that
One moment, shared by anyone
Who can flash the right card
Or lay the green cash down.