Cowering, falling ¦ beat to the ground.
Deranged thoughts take me down.
Like a thunderbolt piercing my heart so weak,
I walk alone on Calgary's streets.
High heel shoes, pert red lips,
moving slowly while swinging those hips.
Dark nights under lamp shades I'll stand,
reaching out for a pole or a shake of a hand.
Don't get much money, work all night long.
Keep on humming an old blues song.
I wear short skirts to show my wares,
My body hangs after so many years.
I'm last in line, no more the cream of the crop.
Old and grey, I know it's time to stop.
The habit of the snow, keeps me on the go,
I'll work until the day I die and that everybody knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem