Auctioneer

An unmarked auction house in the cellar Fat cat millionaires outbid one another A quiet pissing contest To be the lowest of low-lifes. A living corpse up for gropes...I mean grabs. She’s a virgin, for now. Chocolate curls over a red silk chemise Cerulean eyes, swollen. Fifteen years old with her head in the clouds, Drug-induced of course. She wasn’t willing. The closing bell won’t change that. What do we suppose the winning bid will be? A suburban mother sobs and curses god from a twin-sized bed drowning in red silk sheets and tears under a boy-band poster. Another runaway, the Sherriff had shrugged. Third one this week. He was in a hurry. Working two jobs so he could retire. I work at an auction, said he. But no one was listening. The Senator shared a knowing wink Jingling coins in his red silk pocket. I'll start the bidding. 4/7/15