The parting

leaning on a
street pole,
or what used to be it,
watching these daughters of
innocent women,
in bare skin,
and ladders for shoes,
up and down under those lights,
baits,
here,
a man of this race comes by,
parting lips,
faked smiles,
bucks a wallet bids good bye,
and another of that other race,
in three legs crawls,
a little patting and he does a
buck-parting,
and such becomes the rhythm,
of opening gates and parting
bucks,
a melody sung to the break of
dawn,
barely in courtship,
yet a daughter i may have can't
dissuade,
from such scenes thoughts brought,
a trade so lucrate to find a
mention
in them pages of the holliest of
books,


©2011