I stared at you long enough to let our eyes meet
and wondered at your heels on that icy street.
Wondered at services you had already rendered,
either for gain or gratuitously tendered.
Wondered if your payscale is based on fantasy and fetishes
or is it simply a spreadsheet of hourly wishes.
And as I almost bent down, my first stone to pick,
I got a call from a client who makes me quite sick.
Then I started to remember times when I dressed to please;
and even more times when I laughed with too much ease.
As I started to tally my payscale and score,
I had to humbly admit that you're probably worth more.
Slowly, but surely, I started to realize
that, quite often indeed, I serve those that I despise.
If to prostitute is to put to base use for gain,
then I, amongst most, should be first to earn disdain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem