Harlots of Manhattan by Hannah Sothcott
Twenty-six, tarried longer than intended,
The cheque signature unattended.
Tip toeing along coarse concrete crevices,
Trembling for rusty keys in the dusky back alley
‘’Rouge lipstick to please me, mon ami.’’
No cash for electricity.
In the city of vivacity, she is invincible,
Versatile, claret, coy, unstoppable.
Heels drumming out absolution, her life
Is delicate illusions, spirit induced submersions
To cope with the volatile exertions
Of a stranger’s perversion.