she stands on the corner,
shaking with the cold;
reeking of sex, whiskey,
and cheap perfume...
just a kid, really;
somebody's daughter...
lost in a maze of crack,
and violent retribution...
bruises on her face,
her arms, and her heart...
no way to go back,
nothing to go back to...
around the world, or
just a little head...either way,
she gotta pay the man,
gotta feed her need...
and somewhere there's
an empty room, in an empty
house, on a forgotten street...
a child dead, but not buried!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem