Merlot pleather queen, cracks in her corset robes. Thigh-high stockings plucked from the laundromat. She whistles to the bank penny candy in her pocket. Change rains from her tongue baptizing the homeless.
Walks the streets in mismatched Payless, sauntering with blister heels. Denim frays hide the secrets that her gospel mouth won’t sing. Find church pews in her Palm Sundays, that revered harlot goddess. The world burns between her thighs.
Let us pray. Taste salvation on the sidewalk, as she walks away. M.R.