~The Sun Faded Wooden Chair~
The light on the road shimmers, the heat making pools
We think we know what’s going on, we are nobody’s fools
The tree lined road, thick with dust and with heat
Nobody about there just a sun faded wooden seat.
I ponder on this seat sitting by the dusty roadside
A thermos box and flask, with I presume-a drink inside.
I slow the car down as my eyes search through the trees
Perhaps someone is in the shade, trying to catch a cooling breeze.
A dragon fly flits around, so water must be near
A cricket rubs his legs and makes a noise so sharp and clear
The electric blue on the tail of the big flitting dragon fly
The green backed cricket that jumps with a click, oh so high.
There is no one around nor any cars, there is no one there
As the car slows I try to look, but I also try not to stare.
Should I stop and find out-what is going on out there.
With the thermos box, a flask, and a sun faded wooden chair.
A movement in the bushes, a man walks into sight
It’s then I realise this is a meeting place for a lady of the night.
She sits all day painting, her long pointed nails, and drinking from her flask
Waiting for the men to pass by, daringly; How much? They want to ask.
A beauty she is, sitting there-all dressed up to the nines
But willing to sell her body it seems-for euros, cents and dimes.
Her nails now dry, she eyes up the latest man that took the dare
She gives a price, leads him by the hand, and leaves an empty sun faded wooden chair.
In years to come I wonder will still she be there?
With a new or the old more sun faded wooden chair
Now sticking her nails on, her customers now few or none
Her beauteous youth spent in sin, her wrinkle here, here complexion gone.
I often wonder now, as I pass the empty chair
Whether she is with a customer, or she is no longer there.
I wonder if she was forced-or actually takes delight
Sitting in her fading chair yet known as - A lady of the day or night.