Working Girl
I’ve made some money,
But she’s made more.
Knock knock!
Another punter at the door.
I slip on my shoes,
Put my lipstick on.
This man is eager,
Again, comes a ‘ding dong’.
He picks me,
I should be happy,
But I have to have sex,
With this vile chappy.
His eyes light up,
As I give him head.
The things you do,
To butter your bread.
Is it worth it,
To make a few quid?
I’m only doing this,
To feed my kid.
I want to punch him,
He’s demanding “more”
I get the urge to pick him up,
And drop kick him to the floor.
I fake on a smile,
And do what he pleases.
He is disgusting,
He smells like four cheeses.
The service is over,
He chucks me a tip,
Whilst looking at me,
Like I belong in a skip.
He leaves the building,
Looking elated.
I’m just a working girl,
Who now feels degraded.
Copyright ©
Ann Onn | Year Posted 2017
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