Poor Girl

Her hair was scraggy, grease covered, I could see she had no contact with soap for a long time. 
Her eyes were sunken and dark, I couldn't guess the last REM she experienced. 
Her coldsore covered lips looked very sore, 
The scent of her last client lingers on her half torn small red dress, as she limped on one stiletto I held the door open for her. 
Hopefully she will understand that not everyone is hurtful in this small act of kindness as she finally relaxes after her tiresome night shift.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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